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I 



THE MAD KNIGHT 



THE MAD KNIGHT 

A MERRY TALE FOR 
YOUNG PEOPLE 



ADAPTED FROM THE GERMAN OF 

OTTO V. SCHACHING I 

\ 

BY 

K. DENVIR 



H 



New York, Cincinnati, Chicago 

BENZIGER BROTHERS 

Publishers of Benziger s Magazine 
1915 



y 



**■$! 



Copyright, 1915, by Benziger Brothers 



APR 12 1315 

©CI.A397504 



INTRODUCTION 

Feom the fabulous poems which we find 
in the folk-tales of the Middle Ages — 
such as the story of King Arthur and his 
Round Table or Charlemagne and his 
Twelve Knights — there originated in the 
course of time a new style of romances or 
poems, which became known as "romances 
of chivalry." These books rapidly grew 
popular, and among the most widely read 
and admired of them all was "Amadis of 
Gaul," as Wales in England was incor- 
rectly called. It treated of the legend of 
King Arthur, and told in fantastic fashion 
the numerous adventures and wanderings 
of the Prince Amadis. Its author is un- 
known, but he was undoubtedly a Span- 
iard, who lived about the middle of the 
fourteenth century. This work was not 
only widely read, but soon found many 

5 



6 The Mad Knight 

imitators, and was continued in various 
forms. A new series of romances orig- 
inated in the "Palmerin of Oliva" — all 
dealing with wonderful adventures and 
marvelous heroes. The number of these 
romances increased as the demand for 
them grew; they were devoured by the 
people of the Middle Ages with the same 
avidity as the volumes of the circulating 
library are to-day. The craze for ro- 
mances of chivalry developed into a posi- 
tive disease. The Spaniards were par- 
ticularly afflicted, as was only natural, for 
Spain in her constant struggle against the 
Moors had become the home of chivalry 
and knightly glory. Nowhere was the 
idea of chivalrous honor more perfect than 
in romantic Spain. The passion for this 
style of literature reached such a pitch 
that the assistance of the law was called 
upon, and in 1555 the Spanish Parliament 
demanded that all the romances of chiv- 
alry then in existence be publicly burned ; 



The Mad Knight 7 

for the evil effect of such works as "Ama- 
dis" and others of the same type on the 
youth of both sexes was universally ac- 
knowledged. In 1558 Philip II also 
passed laws against these books of chiv- 
alry, but to no purpose — the demand for 
such literature was not to be suppressed. 
Learned men, among them Louis Vives, 
of Valencia (1492-1540) , one of the most 
famous Spanish authors and thinkers, in- 
veighed vainly against the absurdity of 
the romantic stories of Amadis, Splen- 
dian, Florizand, Tirant, Tristan, and 
others. He criticizes these ridiculous ro- 
mances with their adventurous heroes and 
knights errant in the following sarcastic 
words: "This knight has slain twenty 
enemies ; that one, thirty. Another, after 
being covered with wounds and left for 
dead, starts up again in a day or so, full 
of life and strength, and overcomes two 
giants in a brilliant tourney. Then he 
departs, laden with more gold, silver, 



8 The Mad Knight 

precious stones, and silks than a freight 
ship could carry." 

But even the warnings of such men, 
who fully understood the danger of this 
style of book, availed nothing. The ro- 
mances seemed to have become a necessity 
of life with the people. 

However, in 1604, a book was published 
at Madrid which succeeded in doing at 
one stroke what all the laws, the sermons 
and warnings of pious and learned men 
had been unable to accomplish. 

Spain's greatest writer, Don Miguel 
de Cervantes Saavedra, had written a 
book entitled "The Wonderful Knight, 
Don Quixote of La Mancha," in which 
he exposed the follies of the romances of 
chivalry to the ridicule of Spain and, in- 
deed, of the whole world. "Don Quixote" 
is the name of a simple country nobleman, 
who, having gone crazy from reading ro- 
mances of chivalry, dresses himself up as 
a knight, and in company with his squire, 



The Mad Knight 9 

a clumsy peasant of the neighborhood, 
sets off to seek adventures. 

In a short time the immortal book was 
translated into other languages, and all 
Europe laughed over the mad knight, and, 
indeed, laughs over him still. The day of 
chivalrous romances was at an end, and 
people were ashamed of the literature 
they had so eagerly devoured up to this. 

Cervantes was so much encouraged by 
the reception given to his book that in 
1614 he published the second part of his 
sarcastic romance. He is the pride of 
Spanish literature, and the Spaniards 
call him the prince of their poets. 

The Author. 



THE MAD KNIGHT 



CHAPTER I 

The most southerly portion of the 
Spanish kingdom of New Castile is 
called La Mancha. It forms the center of 
the province of Cuidad Real, and num- 
bers at the present day about three hun- 
dred thousand inhabitants. The country, 
for the most part flat, grows mountainous 
toward the frontier. In La Mancha there 
is a village, called Argamasilla, where, 
long ago, there lived a knight who was 
looked upon as a man of very peculiar 
character. He was known as Don 
Quixote, and was about fifty years of age, 
thin and worn-looking in appearance, 
but, withal, strongly built. His chief 
pleasure consisted in hunting and in read- 

11 



12 The Mad Knight 

ing romances of chivalry — otherwise he 
had but few necessities. He lived very 
simply — his usual fare being a bowl of 
soup at midday, meat-balls in the evening, 
and on Saturdays a hash of what remained 
over. The surplus, of his income he de- 
voted to buying himself a plush coat, vel- 
vet trousers for feast-davs, and cloth ones 
for ordinary wear. Besides this simple 
wardrobe, he had a spear, an old round 
shield, a very thin horse, and a greyhound. 
This household was looked after by his 
niece and a housekeeper, while an old 
man-servant attended to the garden and 
stable. 

As we have already said, the knight was 
passionately fond of reading. He de- 
voured greedily all the stories of adven- 
ture he could lay his hands on, and passed 
whole days and sometimes half the night 
reading them. Finally he lost his reason 
from so much reading, and grew to believe 
firmly in the wonderful heroes, the wiz- 



The Mad Knight 13 

ards, the fiery dragons, the mysterious 
islands, and all the other nonsense these 
books contained. 

One day a most extraordinary idea 
seized him. He wished to go out in the 
world as a knight errant to seek adven- 
tures and make a name for himself in the 
world of chivalry. Then, when his gallant 
deeds had brought him unending glory, 
he hoped to be made at least Emperor of 
Trapizonda, for he had read in his ro- 
mances how many a knight, through his 
bravery and strength of arm, had attained 
to imperial power. 

Don Quixote was not the man to hesi- 
tate once he had formed a plan. Several 
old pieces of armor lay rusting in a cor- 
ner of his house ; these he brought out and 
cleaned. His ingenuity helped him to 
remedy all their defects. Finding no 
helmet, but only a tin headpiece, he de- 
vised a kind of vizor out of cardboard, 
strengthened it on the inside with little 



14 The Mad Knight 

iron rods and fastened it to his improvised 
helmet. He next turned his attention to 
his horse, a wretched animal, all skin and 
bones, but more valuable in the knight's 
eyes than even the celebrated Bucephalus 
of Alexander. As the horses of all famous 
knights had special names, Don Quixote 
set to work to find a suitable one for his. 
For four days he meditated upon this im- 
portant question, and finally decided to 
call his steed "Rosinante" or "the horse 
of horses.'' For himself, he chose the name 
"Don Quixote of La Mancha," and feel- 
ing himself now thoroughly prepared for 
his new career, he one fine morning 
donned his armor, mounted his horse, and 
rode out through the rear gate of his 
courtyard into the fields beyond. 

He had not gone very far when he be- 
thought himself, with horror, that he had 
not yet been knighted, and therefore, ac- 
cording to the laws of chivalry, might not 
honorably engage in combat with other 



The Mad Knight 15 

knights. Don Quixote considered for a 
long time what he ought to do, and at last 
found a way out of the difficulty. 

"The very first person who meets me/' 
said he to himself, "will have to knight 
me. That has often happened in the an- 
nals of chivalry." 

So he rode on, waiting impatiently for 
some one with whom he could engage in 
combat. But, alas! his heroic soul sighed 
in vain for great deeds. Time passed, and 
when evening fell it found the knight and 
his horse half dead with fatigue and 
hunger. 

After spying around for a long time, 
Don Quixote believed that he had come 
upon a castle, whose walls loomed up in 
front of him. In reality it was a miserable 
inn, which the disordered imagination of 
the bold adventurer transformed into a 
castle. 

The knight rode up to it. At the door 
stood two girls, whom he took to be young 



16 The Mad Knight 

noblewomen. A short distance from the 
imaginary castle he reined in Rosinante 
and waited to see if a dwarf would not ap- 
pear on the battlements (as was often the 
case in knightly romances), and blow his 
trumpet to announce the arrival of the 
guest. As nothing of the kind happened, 
he rode up to the door (in which, of 
course, he recognized the portal of a 
castle). It chanced that at this moment 
a swineherd, who was driving home his 
flock, blew on his horn. This was a real 
joy to Don Quixote. He now felt con- 
vinced that a dwarf had announced his 
coming, and, highly delighted, he ap- 
proached the inn. At sight of the 
strangely accoutered knight the girls ran 
away, frightened. Don Quixote instantly 
raised his cardboard vizor and called cour- 
teously after them: 

"Your ladyships need fear no offense 
from me. It would ill become the order 
of chivalry to which I belong to offer in- 



The Mad Knight 17 

suit to any one, much less to such high- 
born damsels as your ladyships." 

The girls looked closer at the strange 
being to see his face and then broke into a 
loud laugh. Don Quixote became furi- 
ously angry, and who knows what might 
have happened had not the host, a stout, 
peace-loving man, Appeared. On seeing 
the horseman he, too, could hardly resist 
laughing, and only the fear of the knight's 
spear induced him to address him with 
politeness. 

"If my lord knight seeks shelter, he will 
find an abundance of everything in this 
inn. 

Don Quixote took the landlord to be 
the majordomo of the castle, and replied: 

"Anything will suffice for me, my lord 

steward, for 

'My ornaments are my weapons; 
My rest is the fight P " 

The landlord then held the stirrup 
while Don Quixote, who was very stiff 



18 The Mad Knight 

and tired, dismounted with difficulty. 
He commanded the host to give special 
care to his horse, for it was the finest ani- 
mal that ever ate oats. The landlord had 
a slightly different opinion when he in- 
spected the old mare more carefully, but 
he held his tongue and led the animal off 
to the stable. Don Quixote entered the 
inn, where the two girls, having realized 
the harmlessness of the stranger, came 
forward and offered to assist him in tak- 
ing off his armor. They removed his 
jacket and shoulder-plate, but could not 
undo his neck-piece or the vizor, which 
was tightly fastened on with green strings. 
These they wanted to cut, but Don 
Quixote would not hear of it. So he was 
obliged to sit the whole evening with his 
tourney helmet on his head, much to the 
amusement of the people in the inn. But 
the knight himself was so utterly uncon- 
scious of his laughable appearance that 
while the girls removed his armor he ad- 



The Mad Knight 19 

dressed them, with perfect gravity, in the 
following romantic strain: 

" 'There never was on earth a knight 
So waited on by ladies fair, 

As once was he, Don Quixote hight, 
When first he left his village dear : 

Damsels to serve him ran with speed, 
And princesses to dress his steed/ 

or, rather, Rosinante, for that, ladies, 
is the name of my horse, and I am Don 
Quixote of La Mancha. I did not intend 
telling you my name until my deeds in 
your service had won me your favor. But 
the desire to apply this old ballad to the 
present occasion impelled me to confess 
who I am long before that time had ar- 
rived. There will come a time when your 
ladyships will command me and I shall 
obey, and let the strength of my arm 
proclaim my desire to serve you!" 

The girls, who understood nothing of 
this speech, answered simply by asking 



20 The Mad Knight 

Don Quixote if he wanted something to 
eat, and he replied in the affirmative. 

As it was Friday, and a fast-day, the 
knight was served with a piece of badly 
cooked codfish and black bread, there be- 
ing nothing else in the house. 

Don Quixote decided to take his mod- 
est meal out of doors, to enjoy the pleas- 
ant cool of the evening. But eating 
proved a difficult and laughable process. 
For as the knight had to hold up his vizor 
with both hands, and could not lift any 
food to his mouth, they were obliged to 
feed him like a helpless little child. To 
quench his thirst the landlord placed a 
hollow reed in his mouth and poured wine 
down it. All this the knight bore pa- 
tiently rather than allow the cords of his 
vizor to be cut. 

Suddenly a swineherd passed before 
the door and blew a few blasts on his reed 
pipe. This strengthened Don Quixote in 
the hallucination that he really was in 



The Mad Knight 21 

some famous castle, and was being treated 
to music while he ate — that the cod was 
trout, the bread made of white flour, the 
maids noble damsels, and the landlord 
the castle warden. He was therefore en- 
tirely satisfied with his first expedition; 
the thought of not having received the 
order of knighthood alone troubled him. 

Hardly had he finished his meal when, 
calling the host to him, he locked himself 
in the stable with him, and falling on 
his knees began : 

"Never shall I rise from this spot, brave 
knight, until you grant me the favor I 
beg of you, and which will redound to 
your honor and the good of mankind." 

The landlord was completely taken 
aback by the behavior of his guest, but see- 
ing how things were he promised to grant 
the extraordinary request. But, of course, 
confessed the sly landlord, there was no 
chapel in his castle where the armed vigil 
might take place, as required by the laws 



22 The Mad Knight 

of chivalry, for the chapel was in course 
of reconstruction; but the knight could 
stand guard in the castle courtyard, as 
was permitted in cases of necessity. 

Don Quixote agreed and the necessary 
preparations were made. Taking all his 
armor, he placed it on a trough which 
stood in front of a well in the yard, seized 
his spear and began to march up and down 
as soon as night fell. 

The landlord told the guests in the inn 
about the crazy knight, who was holding 
watch in the yard, and who wished to be 
knighted at daybreak. Astonished at this 
silly idea, the guests watched him from a 
distance as he tramped up and down, 
sometimes leaning on his spear, sometimes 
watching his armor, lying on the trough. 
Night had fallen, and the courtyard was 
flooded with moonlight, so that the guests 
could observe his every movement from 
the house. 



The Mad Knight 23 

Now, it happened that there were some 
mule-drivers staying for the night in this 
inn, and one of them, wishing to fetch 
water for his mules, entered the yard and 
began to lif t the armor from the trough. 

"Whoever you may be, foolhardy 
knight," cried Don Quixote, catching 
sight of him, "see that you do not touch 
the weapons of the bravest of wandering 
knights, if you do not wish to lose your 
life as punishment for your daring." 

The mule-driver did not turn around, 
and continued throwing the armor aside. 
Thereupon the knight raised his spear 
and struck the man with such force upon 
the head that he sank to the ground. Then 
Don Quixote collected his armor and con- 
tinued his walk. 

While the muleteer lay there stunned, 
one of his comrades came into the yard. 
Not knowing what had happened, he, too, 
wished to clear off the trough, when Don 



24 The Mad Knight 

Quixote, without saying a word, brought 
down his spear with such vigor upon him 
that he split his head open. 

This noise brought the landlord and his 
guests out of the inn. The traveling com- 
panions of the wounded men began to 
throw stones at Don Quixote from a dis- 
tance, and the latter protected himself as 
well as he could behind his shield. The 
landlord called upon them to stop, the 
man was mad, he said, and would be ac- 
quitted as a lunatic even were he to kill 
them one and all. Don Quixote called 
out, too, but much louder than the rest, 
denouncing them as traitors and assassins, 
and the landlord as a cowardly wretch to 
allow a knight errant to be treated so. 

At length the host succeeded in calm- 
ing the mule-drivers as well as the angry 
knight, who permitted the wounded to be 
removed. 

The landlord was far from pleased at 
the crazy behavior of the aspirant for 



The Mad Knight 25 

knighthood, and decided to initiate him 
in the desired order without further de- 
lay, in order to get rid of him quietly. He 
apologized humbly for the impertinence 
of the "low rabble/' and expressed a wish 
to confer the honor of knighthood upon 
him at once, as he had already kept an 
armed vigil of four hours, when, in fact, 
two hours really sufficed, in case of ne- 
cessity. 

The knight believed all this, and the 
host, after fetching a tally-book, in which 
he was accustomed to inscribe all the litter 
and oats supplied to the muleteers, ap- 
peared before Don Quixote, accompanied 
by the two maids and a small boy, who 
held the end of a candle. He commanded 
Don Quixote to kneel down, read out of 
his account book as though reciting some 
pious prayer, and in the midst of the read- 
ing raised his hand to give the knight a 
gentle blow with his own sword, at the 
same time mumbling between his teeth, 



26 The Mad Knight 

as though praying. After this was fin- 
ished he commanded one of the "ladies" to 
gird on the knight's sword. This she did 
with great gravity, fearing to burst out 
laughing, but the heroic deeds she had 
already seen the knight perform pre- 
vented her from doing so. She girded on 
his sword while the other girl attached his 
spurs and both wished that he might be 
a fortunate knight and that God might 
give him victory in all his combats. 

Hardly were these ridiculous cere- 
monies finished when the newly made 
knight mounted his horse, embraced the 
landlord (who was heartily glad to be rid 
of him), and rode away. 



CHAPTER II 

Day was already breaking when Don 
Quixote quitted the inn. While 
riding toward his village it occurred to 
him that now, being a knight, he would 
need a squire, and he thought of his 
neighbor, a poor peasant with many chil- 
dren, who would perhaps suit his pur- 
pose. 

When a short distance from the village 
his attention was attracted by loud cries 
of pain issuing from a neighboring 
thicket. He rode to the spot immediately, 
and saw a horse tied to an oak tree, and 
to another a boy of about fifteen, who was 
stripped to the waist. A peasant stood 
by and was striking the boy unmercifully 
with his belt. 

"Oh, sir! I will never do it again! I 
will never do it again/' cried the boy un- 

27 



28 The Mad Knight 

ceasingly. "I promise you from this out 
to take good care of the cattle." 

When Don Quixote saw what was go- 
ing on he cried out angrily: 

"Unworthy knight! It ill becomes you 
to attack one who is defenseless. Mount 
your horse and take up your spear, and 
then I shall let you see that only cowards 
behave as you are doing." 

The peasant was no little terrified by 
the advance of this strange figure, and 
gave himself up for lost. 

"My lord knight," began he, having 
recourse to soft words, "this boy whom I 
am punishing is my servant. He had 
charge of a flock of sheep in this neigh- 
borhood; but he is so careless that every 
day one of my sheep is missing, and be- 
cause I punished him for his negligence 
or roguery, he said I did it out of stingi- 
ness in order to deprive him of the wages 
due him! By God and my soul, he lies!" 

"Lies? And you say that to me, you 



The Mad Knight 29 

good-for-nothing clodhopper?" cried Don 
Quixote. "By the sun above us, I will 
pierce you through and through with this 
lance. Pay him instantly without any 
grumbling. If not, I will make an end 
of you, and hack you to pieces. Unbind 
him!" 

The peasant hung his head and obeyed 
the command. 

"How much does your master owe 
you?" asked Don Quixote of the servant. 

"Nine months at seven reals* a month." 

"That makes sixty-three reals," said 
Don Quixote to the peasant. "Now, take 
out your purse instantly, if you do not 
court death." 

"Noble knight, forgive me," replied the 
man, "but I do not owe him so much. 
Three pairs of shoes and two bleedings 
which the boy received during his illness 
must be deducted." 

"That's all very well," replied Don 

* One real is equal to five cents. 



30 The Mad Knight 

Quixote. "But the shoes and the bleed- 
ings must go for the blows you struck him 
without cause." 

"But, sir knight, I have no money 
about me," pleaded the peasant. "Andrew 
must come home with me, and I will pay 
him real for real." 

"Go with him again?" cried the boy. 
"Ah, that is not to be thought of. If I 
go home with him he will skin me like an- 
other St. Bartholomew." 

"He won't do that," answered Don 
Quixote. "It is sufficient that I com- 
mand, and he will show me obedience. In 
so far as he has sworn it by the order of 
knighthood to which he belongs, I will 
let him go free and myself go surety for 
the payment." 

"Consider, your Grace, what you are 
saying," replied the boy. "My master is 
no knight and has never received any 
order of chivalry. He is John Haldudo, 
the rich farmer of Quintinar." 



The Mad Knight 31 

"That does not matter," retorted Don 
Quixote, "for there may be Haldudos who 
are also knights." 

Finally the peasant promised to pay his 
debt with compound interest. 

"I dispense you from the compound in- 
terest," said Don Quixote. "Give him his 
exact money — that will satisfy me ; other- 
wise I swear I will return and punish you. 
And if you wish to know who I am, know 
you that I am Don Quixote of La 
Mancha, the redresser of all wrongs. 
Now, God protect you!" 

And spurring his horse, he rode off. 
Hardly had he left the wood when the 
man seized the boy, tied him to the tree 
again, and beat him so that he left him 
half dead on the spot. 

"Now call the redresser of all wrongs," 
jeered the peasant, "and we'll see how 
he'll redress this one. I've a good mind 
to skin you alive." 



32 The Mad Knight 

But instead, he unbound the boy and 
let him go off to seek his champion. 

The peasant remained behind, chuck- 
ling, while Andrew, full of rage and pain, 
started off, determined to complain to the 
brave Don Quixote of La Mancha. 

In the meanwhile, Don Quixote, de- 
lighted with his adventure (which he rep- 
resented to himself as the liberation of a 
noble prince from the hands of a cruel 
villain), had come to a road which 
branched out in four directions. He 
thought of the crossroads, where the 
knights errant reflect as to which road 
they should follow, and in imitation of 
them he pondered for a long time, and 
then gave a free rein to his horse, which 
unhesitatingly trotted off homeward. 

After riding about two miles, Don 
Quixote perceived a large number of 
people, who turned out afterward to be 
six merchants from Toledo coming to buy 
silk in Murcia. They were accompanied 



The Mad Knight 33 

by four mounted servants and four mule- 
teers on foot. Don Quixote imagined 
this an excellent opportunity for another 
adventure. Settling himself in his stir- 
rups, he grasped his spear, laid his shield 
against his chest, and halting in the middle 
of the road awaited the approach of the 
knights errant, for as such he looked upon 
the strangers. 

When they were near enough he called 
out: 

"Halt! strangers, and confess that in 
the whole world there is no nobler lady 
than the Empress of La Mancha, the 
peerless Dulcinea of Toboso!" 

The merchants looked at each other 
with a smile; they saw at once that they 
had to do with a madman. 

"Sir Knight," began one of them, "we 
don't know what the Empress of La 
Mancha looks like. Show her to us and 
we will gladly say what you wish to hear/' 

"If I showed her to you," repeated Don 



34 The Mad Knight 

Quixote, "what merit would you have 
then? You must believe and confess with- 
out having seen her or I shall challenge 
you one and all!" 

"Sir Knight," replied the merchant, 
"show us a picture of the empress, even 
if it is no larger than a grain of wheat. 
Yes, I think we are already on your side, 
even if the empress' picture proves that 
one of her eyes is crooked and that sulphur 
and cinnabar flow from the other." 

"Miserable rabble!" cried Don Quixote 
furiously. "You shall suffer for this mon- 
strous calumny against my mistress." 

Thereupon he grasped his lance and 
dashed with such force upon the merchant 
that it would have been all over with him 
had not fate at that moment caused 
Rosinante to stumble and fall. Don 
Quixote rolled far out into the field and 
found it impossible to get up, weighted 
down as he was by his heavy old armor. 

One of the mule-drivers hastened up, 



The Mad Knight 35 

broke the knight's lance and thrashed him 
unmercifully with it. His master called 
to him to stop, but the fellow would not 
cease until he had broken the pieces of 
the lance on Don Quixote's body. The 
latter never held his tongue for an instant 
during the entire affair, but hurled the 
most fearful threats at the highwaymen, 
for as such he now regarded the mer- 
chants. 

At length the boy gave up, and the 
merchants continued their journey. Don 
Quixote tried in vain to rise, and who 
knows what would have become of him 
had not a peasant chanced to pass that 
way bringing a sack of wheat to the mill 
on the back of his ass. Seeing a man 
lying on the ground, he asked him who 
he was, and Don Quixote answered with 
the wildest nonsense out of his knightly 
romances. He said he was a wounded 
knight named Baldwin, who had been sur- 
prised and wounded by his enemy Char- 



36 The Mad Knight 

lotte. He likewise claimed the peasant as 
his uncle, the Marquis of Mantua. 

The peasant shook his head in astonish- 
ment when he took off the man's vizor, 
washed his face, which was covered with 
dust, and suddenly recognized the squire 
of his own village. 

"But, master, who has treated you so 
badly?" he cried. 

The knight only replied with more 
ridiculous phrases. 

Hearing this, the peasant lifted him up 
and put him on his own donkey; then 
collecting the weapons, even to the last 
splinter of the lance, he fastened them 
upon Rosinante. Taking the latter by 
the bridle and leading the donkey by the 
halter, he went back toward the village, 
marveling at the foolish talk he had to 
listen to from Don Quixote. 

By nightfall they reached the village. 
When the peasant arrived at Don Quix- 
ote's house he found everything in con- 



The Mad Knight S7 

fusion. The priest of the village, Pero 
Perez, and the barber, both great friends 
of the knight, were there, and the house- 
keeper was lamenting loudly that her 
master had disappeared now for six days ? 
and no one knew anything about him. 
"As true as I live," said she, "I solemnly 
declare that the accursed romances have 
turned his brain. I remember now I 
have often heard him say that he wished 
to be a knight errant and roam about the 
world seeking adventures." 

His niece said the same thing. 

"Do you know, Master Nicholas," she 
continued, turning to the barber, "that 
my uncle read these hateful books for two 
whole days and nights without stopping, 
until finally he threw away the book, drew 
his sword and tilted against the wall. 
When he was tired out he would say he 
had slain four giants as big as towers, and 
the perspiration which covered him he 
called the blood from wounds received in 



38 The Mad Knight 

the struggle. Immediately afterward he 
drank a big jug of cold water, which he 
believed to be a magic potion given him 
by a wise sorcerer." 

"To-morrow we shall hold court over 
those books," said the priest, "and con- 
demn them to the flames, so that in the 
future they may not continue to do such 
harm as they have brought to our dear 
friend." 

These words reached the ears of the 
peasant and Don Quixote, and the former 
now understood the nature of his neigh- 
bor's malady. Thereupon he called out 
loudly : 

"My lords, open to the Marquis of 
Mantua and to the Lord Baldwin, who 
comes severely wounded." 

At these words they all rushed out, and 
recognizing the long lost one, they em- 
braced him with joy. 

"Keep back all, for I return severely 
wounded through the fault of my steed," 



The Mad Knight 39 

cried Don Quixote. "Get me to my bed, 
and if it is possible call the wise sorceress 
Urganda, that she may nurse me and bind 
my wounds." 

"Goodness me!" cried the housekeeper. 
"Did I not tell you so? A hundred thou- 
sand curses on all the romances of chivalry 
which have reduced your Grace to such a 
condition." 

When the knight was put to bed they 
examined him, but could find no wounds. 
He asserted that he had only received a 
bruise when his horse fell, while fighting 
against ten giants — the boldest, burliest 
giants that could be found. 

"Oh!" said the priest. "So there are 
giants in the case, too. By the holy sign 
of the cross, I will burn them all before 
sunset to-morrow." 

To all other questions Don Quixote 
only replied by asking for something to 
eat, and begging to be let sleep, as that 
was what he needed most. 



40 The Mad Knight 

His wishes were fulfilled, and soon he 
fell asleep, and slept well into the next 
day, when the priest and the barber had 
already arrived to sit in judgment on the 
pernicious books. The keys of the room 
where the books were kept were given to 
the priest, and they all went in, accom- 
panied by the housekeeper. The room 
contained more than one hundred large 
bound books and several small ones. 
Hardly had the housekeeper glanced at 
them when she fetched a little bowl of 
holy water and a sprinkler. 

"Your Reverence," said she to the 
priest, "take this and sprinkle the room, 
so that none of the many magicians in 
these books may remain behind to enchant 
us as a punishment for exterminating 
them off the face of the earth." 

The priest laughed heartily at the 
housekeeper's idea. Then he ordered the 
barber to give him the books one by one. 
The niece and the housekeeper demanded 



The Mad Knight 41 

that the entire collection be thrown out 
of the window into the courtyard and 
burned. The priest did not wish to act 
so unjustly; but to decide in each case, 
and at least read the title. 

The very first books passed to him by 
the barber were the four volumes of 
"Amadis of Gaul," the most celebrated 
romance of chivalry in the Middle Ages. 
It was, to a certain extent, responsible for 
all the other books written in a similar 
style. The priest wished to condemn it, 
but relented at the request of the barber. 

Then followed a quantity of other 
books, so full of nonsense that they were 
all flung out of the window. 

Only a few were spared, like the story 
of the celebrated "Tirante the White," 
"Diana" (by the Portuguese George de 
Montemayor), the "Araucana," by Don 
Alphonso de Ercilla, and "Monserrato," 
by the Valencian poet, Captain Christo- 
bal de Virves, which are still counted 



42 The Mad Knight 

among the ornaments of Spanish liter- 
ature. 

At length the priest grew weary of in- 
vestigating the books, and simply con- 
demned all those still remaining to be 
burned. 

Suddenly Don Quixote's voice was 
heard calling: "Here, here, brave knights, 
is the strength of your arm needful, for 
the courtier knights are carrying off the 
tourney prize." 

Hurrying to the room, they found the 
knight out of bed and swinging his sword 
in all directions. With difficulty they got 
him back to bed, where he still raved on 
in the wildest strain about tournaments, 
knights, and magic art, till at length sleep 
overcame him. 

The housekeeper quickly destroyed all 
the books in the courtyard, and by the 
priest's advice the room where they had 
been kept was securely walled up. They 
decided to tell the knight that the room 



The Mad Knight 43 

and the books in it had been carried off 
by magicians. 

Two days later Don Quixote rose from 
his bed. He went straight toward the 
room where the books had been; again 
and again he tapped along the wall and 
tried to find the door. At last he asked 
the housekeeper where the room and the 
books were. 

"What room is your Grace looking 
for?" she asked. "Neither the room nor 
the books are in the house. The devil has 
carried them off." 

"No," said his niece reassuringly, "it 
was a magician who came here on a cloud 
the night of the day you left us. He rode 
on a serpent, and went into the room. 
What he did in there I don't know, but a 
short time afterward he flew out through 
the roof and left the house all full of 
smoke. When we looked later on we 
found the room and the books gone. At 
the moment of his departure I heard him 



44 The Mad Knight 

cry out : 'I do this out of secret hatred to 
the master of the house.' He said, too, 
that he was called 'the wise Muniaton.' " 

" 'Freston,' he will have said," cor- 
rected Don Quixote. 

"I don't know,-' declared the house- 
keeper, ' 'whether he called himself 'Fres- 
ton' or 'Friston.' I only know that his 
name ended in 'on.' " 

"Yes, yes, that's it," announced Don 
Quixote. "He is a great enemy of mine, 
because he knows that I will fight with 
one of his favored knights and conquer 
him." 

"Who doubts it?" said the niece. "But, 
uncle, who forces you to this? Would 
it not be better to remain quietly at home 
instead of roving through the world in 
search of adventure, not remembering 
that many who have gone to seek wool 
have returned shorn?" 

"Ah! my niece, you are quite mistaken," 
replied Don Quixote. "Before I am 



The Mad Knight 45 

shorn I shall tear out the beard of any one 
who presumes to touch a hair of my head." 
Seeing that her uncle was growing 
angry, the niece said no more. 



CHAPTER III 

For a fortnight Don Quixote remained 
quietly at home. Indeed, it looked 
as though he had quite given up his foolish 
notions. Whenever the priest and the 
barber visited him, he talked to them about 
the knights errant who were so needed in 
the world, and to satisfy him they agreed 
now and then with what he said. 

One day Don Quixote sought out one 
of his neighbors, a good fellow, but by no 
means clever. The knight talked so elo- 
quently, and promised him so much, that 
at length the poor peasant (whose name 
was Sancho Panza) consented to go off 
with him as squire. He was influenced 
thereto by Don Quixote's promise to 
make him governor of an island, which 
they were to acquire in the twinkling of an 
eye, through some adventure or another. 

46 



The Mad Knight 47 

Don Quixote obtained the necessary 
money by selling some of his land and 
mortgaging the rest. From a friend he 
procured a circular shield, and he reno- 
vated his battered helmet. Sancho made 
his preparations too. He wished to take 
his donkey — a fine animal, and his wallet 
with him. Don Quixote was a little 
doubtful about the donkey. He had never 
heard of a knight's squire on donkeyback. 
He contented himself with the silent re- 
solve to mount Sancho more suitably as 
soon as the possibility of seizing some re- 
fractory knight's horse should present 
itself. 

At last all was ready, and one night 
Don Quixote and Sancho silently left the 
village without saying good-by to any 
one. Sancho rode along on his ass like a 
patriarch; besides his wallet and a leathern 
bottle, he possessed nothing but the long- 
ing for the promised governorship and 
the island. 



48 The Mad Knight 

By sunrise they had gone a long dis- 
tance. 

"Gracious master/' began Sancho sud- 
denly, "please don't forget what you have 
promised me about that island. I shall 
know how to govern it, no matter how 
large it may be." 

Don Quixote not only renewed his 
promise, but spoke of the possibility of 
getting a kingdom for his faithful squire 
before the week was out. 

"And you needn't think that anything 
wonderful," he added, "for such unheard- 
of things happen to knights that I could 
easily give you more than I promise." 

"At that rate," replied Sancho, "I might 
even become a king, my wife a queen, and 
my children princes?" 

"Certainly. Who doubts it?" answered 
Don Quixote. 

"I, your Grace. For my Hanna would 
never do as a queen. Countess might suit 
her better." 



The Mad Knight 49 

"Leave that to the Lord, Sancho," re- 
plied Don Quixote. "He will give you 
what is best for you." 

While talking thus they came in sight 
of thirty or forty windmills, which are 
very common in La Mancha. On seeing 
them, Don Quixote cried out joyfully: 

"Do you see these thirty giants, friend 
Panza? I intend to attack them and put 
an end to them. With the booty we shall 
lay the foundation of our wealth, for it is 
a righteous deed to rid the earth of this 
wicked race." 

"What giants?" asked Sancho Panza. 

"Those that you see yonder," replied his 
master, "with the long arms — some of 
them two miles long." 

"Consider, my lord," began Sancho. 
"These are no giants, but only windmills, 
and what you take for arms are the sails, 
which turn in the wind and work the mill- 
stones." 

"I see well that you are not conversant 



50 The Mad Knight 

with adventures," retorted Don Quixote. 
"I tell you they are giants, and if you are 
afraid, you can retire from here and pray, 
while I fight the unequal fight." 

With these words he spurred his horse, 
and not listening to what his squire called 
after him, namely, that they were wind- 
mills and not giants, Don Quixote dashed 
off, crying: 

"Flee not, cowardly, miserable creat- 
ures! But a single knight attacks you." 

A gentle wind sprang up and the long 
sails began to move. As soon as Don 
Quixote saw that, he cried out: 

"And had you more arms than the giant 
Briareus, you would still have to reckon 
with me." Thereupon, covering himself 
with his shield, he sprang forward in full 
gallop against the first windmill. As he 
stuck his lance in the sail, the wind turned 
it so briskly that the lance broke, drew 
horse and rider with it, and Don Quixote 
rolled heavily over the field. 



The Mad Knight 51 

Sancho Panza rode up quickly to help 
his master, and found that the latter could 
not move, so powerful was the blow which 
he and Rosinante had received. 

1 'Didn't I tell your Grace they were 
only windmills?" said Sancho. 

"Be silent, Sancho," replied his master. 
"The fortunes of war are varied. I be- 
lieve that the magician Freston, who is so 
hostile to me, and who carried off my 
books, has changed these giants into wind- 
mills in order to rob me of the glory of 
conquering them. He is my deadly 
enemy, but in the end his evil arts will avail 
but little against the power of my sword." 

"God grant it," replied Sancho Panza, 
and helped his master to mount. 

Still conversing about the adventure, 
they reached the mountain pass of Lapice, 
which, as it was much frequented, Don 
Quixote considered a likely spot for ad- 
ventures. It grieved him greatly to look 
at his shattered lance. 



52 The Mad Knight 

"I remember, however, to have read," 
he said to his servant, "about a Spanish 
knight named Diego Perez de Vargas, 
whose sword was broken in battle, and 
who cut a branch from an oak and did 
such good service with it in the fight 
against the Moors that he received the 
name "Splitskull," which all his descend- 
ants also bore. I tell you this because I 
intend to cut off a branch from the first 
holly or oak we come across, and to per- 
form such deeds with it that you may 
count yourself happy to be permitted to 
witness them." 

"God grant it," replied Sancho fer- 
vently. "I believe everything your Grace 
says, but I also believe that it is time for 
dinner." 

"You may eat if you wish to," replied 
Don Quixote. "I do not need to." 

Sancho settled himself in his saddle, 
drew something out of the wallet, and rode 



The Mad Knight 53 

slowly along, taking a good pull now and 
then at the leathern flask, and thinking 
that adventuring was not so bad after all. 

When night came, master and servant 
lay down to sleep under the trees, from 
one of which Don Quixote had broken off 
a dried branch, to which he fastened the 
iron point of his broken lance. He did not 
sleep a wink the whole night, but thought 
about adventures and such things as 
knights errant are supposed to think of. 

It was different with Sancho Panza, 
who slept so soundly that he had to be 
awakened by his master. 

The next morning they set off back 
toward the pass of Lapice. 

"Here, said Don Quixote when they 
reached it, "here we can have our fill of 
adventures. But remember, you must not 
interfere if a knight attacks me ; you may 
only come to my assistance when my oppo- 
nents are common folks." 



54 The Mad Knight 

Sancho declared he would hold this 
command sacred, particularly as he was 
of a peaceful disposition. 

In the middle of this conversation two 
Benedictine brothers appeared, riding on 
mules, which were almost as large as 
dromedaries. They wore sun-glasses and 
carried umbrellas. A coach escorted by 
four or five mounted servants and two 
mule-drivers on foot followed behind 
them. Hardly had Don Quixote seen 
them when he said to his squire : "If I am 
not much mistaken, this will prove the 
most magnificent adventure ever heard of. 
These black figures must be magicians 
who are carrying off a princess in the car- 
riage. It is my duty to attack them with 
my entire strength." 

"This is worse than the windmills," 
muttered Sancho. "Think, my lord, these 
are monks of the Order of St. Benedict, 
and the carriage is sure to contain only 



The Mad Knight 55 

travelers. Be careful what you do — that 
the devil may not deceive you." 

"I have already told you that you un- 
derstand nothing at all about adventures. 
What I say is true, and in another mo- 
ment you will be convinced of it." 

He rode forward and halted in the 
middle of the road. When the monks were 
sufficiently near he called out loudly: 
" Fiendish, ruthless rabble, set free the 
high-born princess you are carrying off in 
this carriage or instant death will be the 
punishment for your evil deeds." 

The monks drew rein and were no less 
astonished by the appearance than by the 
words of Don Quixote. 

"My lord knight," they replied, "we are 
neither fiends nor ruthless, but simply two 
brothers of the Benedictine Order going 
our way, and not knowing if a stolen prin- 
cess is in this carriage or not." 

"Your smooth words avail nothing, for 



56 The Mad Knight 

I know you now," cried Don Quixote, 
spurring his horse, and dashing at the 
nearest monk with such fury that the lat- 
ter would have been pierced through had 
he not slipped down from his mule. The 
other monk rode hurriedly off. 

When Sancho Panza saw the monk 
lying on the ground he dismounted 
nimbly, rushed up to him and began to 
tear off his clothing. 

The two muleteers came up and de- 
manded to know why he was stripping the 
monk. 

"The clothes are mine by right, as booty 
in the fight that my master has just won." 

The drivers had a different opinion on 
that point, and while the knight was con- 
versing with the people in the carriage, 
they attacked Sancho, threw him down, 
pulled out every hair in his beard, and beat 
him until he became unconscious. The 
monk mounted instantly and, pale with 



The Mad Knight 57 

terror, rode after his companion, who 
watched from a distance how things were 
turning out. Once together again, they 
trotted off at full speed. 

In the meantime Don Quixote had ap- 
proached the carriage and began to speak 
with the lady inside. He introduced him- 
self as Don Quixote of La Mancha, a 
knight errant, who had just accomplished 
her liberation. 

One of the lady's servants, a Biscayan, 
heard this, and approaching the knight, 
said impatiently in his broken Spanish: 
"Be off, knight, be off with the preachers. 
If you no leave the coach I kill you — so 
true I am Biscayan." 

Hot words followed, and finally blows. 
The Biscayan quickly pulled a cushion out 
of the carriage to use as a shield. He 
struck the knight such a fierce blow on 
the shoulder that, had it not been for his 
armor, he would have been seriously hurt. 



58 The Mad Knight 

Then Don Quixote seized his sword in 
both hands and swung it furiously against 
his enemy. 

The lady in the carriage and all her 
servants made numberless vows to all the 
miraculous pictures and shrines in the 
whole of Spain that God might avert this 
terrible danger. 

Don Quixote's sword came down with 
a crash on the Biscay an, whose cushion 
proved useless, and he dropped from 
his mule covered with blood. Seeing his 
opponent helpless on the ground, Don 
Quixote dismounted, and, hurrying up to 
him, held the point of his sword toward 
him, demanding his surrender. 

The Biscayan was too stunned to 
speak, and, enraged by his silence, Don 
Quixote was about to run him through 
when the ladies, who had watched the 
struggle with terror and anxiety, hastened 
up and begged mercy for their valet. 

"Assuredly, gentle mistresses," replied 



The Mad Knight 59 

Don Quixote with pride and dignity. "I 
am most willing to grant your request." 

His anger thus appeased, the Biscayan 
was allowed to rise, and the carriage and 
its occupants continued their journey. 

Sancho now rose to his feet. He had 
carefully watched his master's combat, 
silently but fervently praying that God 
might give him victory and, incidentally, 
some kind of an island or other. When 
he came up to hold his master's stirrup, 
he threw himself on his knees and cried, 
before Don Quixote had mounted : 

"Be kind enough, gracious Senor Don 
Quixote, to give me the governorship of 
the island which has been won in this fierce 
struggle, for no matter how large it is, I 
feel myself competent to rule it as well as 
any one who ever governed islands in the 
world." 

"Remember, friend Sancho," replied 
Don Quixote, "that this adventure and 
others of a like nature are merely chance 



60 The Mad Knight 

adventures, in which one gains nothing 
more than a broken skull. Only have pa- 
tience; we will meet adventures through 
which I shall be able to make you governor 
or perhaps something higher still." 

That same day they rode many miles, 
but no other opportunity for heroic deeds 
presented itself. Evening came, and they 
were glad to reach a poor goatherd's hut, 
where they decided to pass the night. The 
herdsmen did their best to receive the 
wandering knight and his squire suitably. 
They entertained Don Quixote with shep- 
herds' tales, while Sancho Panza devoted 
himself to eating and drinking. 

The following morning they bade fare- 
well to the hospitable goatherds and con- 
tinued their adventurous journey. At 
noon they came to a fresh, green meadow, 
watered by a little streamlet, and here they 
determined to rest for a few hours. 

Ill luck would have it that a number of 
Galician mares were grazing in the valley 



The Mad Knight 61 

attended by some Yanguesian drovers 
from the old Castilian province of Se- 
govia. These men were in the habit of 
resting at noon in some sheltered spot with 
their animals. The spot chosen by Don 
Quixote suited them exactly. No sooner 
had Rosinante espied the mares than she 
joined them, but was beaten off by the 
drovers. 

Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, who 
had seen this, came panting up, and the 
former said to his squire : 

"As I perceive, friend Sancho, that 
these people are not knights, but men of 
low degree, you may assist me to revenge 
the insult offered to Rosinante before our 
eyes." 

"What revenge can we take?" replied 
Sancho, "when they are twenty or thirty 
and we are only two — or perhaps only one 
and a half." 

"I am equal to a hundred," said Don 
Quixote, and without wasting words, he 



62 The Mad Knight 

grasped his sword and attacked the driv- 
ers. Sancho Panza followed the example 
of his master. The Yanguesians, having 
seized their cudgels, got the two heroes in 
their midst and thrashed them soundly. 
In a few moments Sancho and his master 
lay on the ground beside Rosinante, who 
had not yet been able to rise. 

The drovers hurriedly collected their 
horses and disappeared from the scene of 
their victory. 

Sancho Panza was the first to recover. 

"Senor Don Quixote! Ah! Sefior Don 
Quixote/' he said in a weak voice to his 
master, who lay beside him. 

"What do you want, friend Sancho?" 
replied the knight in the same dismal tone 
as Sancho. 

"Has not your Grace a few drops of 
some magic potion which is equally good 
for broken bones as for bruises and stab 
wounds?" 



The Mad Knight 63 

"If I had, what else should we need?" 
replied Don Quixote. "But I swear to 
you, Sancho Panza, on the word of a gal- 
lant knight, that before two days are over 
it will be in my possession." 

At last Sancho Panza rose up, with 
many groans and curses upon those who 
had brought him to such a pass. He 
helped Rosinante to get up, and settling 
Don Quixote on the donkey, with Rosin- 
ante following behind, he took the ass by 
the halter and made his way as best he 
could to the highroad. 

After going about half a mile he came 
in sight of the highway, and near it an 
inn, which Don Quixote obstinately in- 
sisted was a castle, while Sancho Panza 
held to his own opinion. 

Arrived at the inn, the host, seeing Don 
Quixote lying across the donkey, inquired 
from Sancho what was the matter with 
him. 



64 The Mad Knight 

"Nothing," replied Sancho. "He only 
fell from a rock and bruised his back a 
little." 

The landlady, a good-natured soul, 
sympathized with the poor, battered 
knight, and bade her daughter and a maid 
named Maritornes help her to bind his 
wounds. When the good woman saw the 
welts with which the knight was covered 
she decided they must have come from 
blows rather than a fall. 

"Blows? What an idea!" cried Sancho. 
"The rock had many corners and rough 
edges and each one of them has left its 
mark upon him. Please manage, Senora, 
that a little lint and ointment remain over ; 
there is another who needs it. My back 
hurts me a little, too." 

"Ah," said the landlady, "did you fall 
also?" 

"I didn't exactly fall," replied Sancho, 
"but when I saw my master fall, terror 



The Mad Knight 65 

lamed me and I felt as if I had received a 
thousand blows or more." 

"What is this gentleman's name?" asked 
Maritornes. 

"Don Quixote of La Mancha. He is a 
knight errant, and one of the bravest on 
earth." 

"What is a knight errant?" questioned 
the maid. 

"Are you so new to the world that you 
don't know that?" retorted Sancho Panza. 
"Learn, then, my dear, that a knight 
errant is a man who may receive a thrash- 
ing or a throne within the same hour. To- 
day he's the most unfortunate creature in 
the world, and to-morrow he may have two 
or three kingly crowns to give away to his 
squire." 

"How comes it, then," interrupted the 
hostess, "that you, who serve such a 
master, have not managed to get even a 
count's title?" 

"It is too soon for that," replied Sancho. 



66 The Mad Knight 

"It is only two months since we started 
out to seek adventures, and as yet we have 
not met with the kind we want to get. 
However, if my master, Don Quixote, re- 
covers from his wounds — or rather his fall 
— and I escape becoming a cripple, I 
would not exchange my prospects for the 
finest manor in Spain!" 

When Sancho's wounds had been 
dressed also, the master and servant lay 
down to rest, but what with hard beds and 
the noisy disputes of a mule-driver in the 
inn, they got but little sleep. 

The next morning Don Quixote pre- 
pared to depart. In a corner of the inn he 
perceived a watchman's spear, which, 
heedless of the eyes of the guests, who 
were watching him, he took to replace his 
broken lance. 

He and his squire mounted their steeds, 
and then Don Quixote, calling the land- 
lord to him, thanked him condescendingly. 

"Many and great were the attentions 



The Mad Knight 67 

we received in your castle, my lord war- 
den. If I can repay you for them by re- 
venging any insult offered you by any 
enemy, I will gladly do so, that you may 
learn that it is my duty to help the weak 
and punish the faithless. Reflect, if there 
is any such mission you wish to entrust to 
me?" 

"My lord knight," replied the host, "I 
have no need to ask your lordship to re- 
venge any wrong, for if such is done me, 
I know how to revenge it myself in my 
own manner. I have nothing further to 
demand but that your Grace will pay me 
for your lodging, the litter and oats for 
your animals and the supper." 

"Is this an inn?" asked Don Quixote. 

"Aye, and a very respectable one at 
that," retorted the landlord. 

"Then I have been mistaken until now," 
said Don Quixote, "for I believed this inn 
to be a castle. As it is so, however, you must 
excuse me from paying, for I cannot break 



68 The Mad Knight 

the laws of the order of knights errant, who 
never pay for their food or lodging. A 
hearty welcome is due to them as a recom- 
pense for the unspeakable fatigues they 
suffer, when, day or night, summer or 
winter, in heat or cold, they wander about, 
on foot or on horseback, in search of ad- 
venture." 

"That's nothing to me," replied the 
host. "Let people pay me what they owe 
me, and the rest does not concern me. I 
want my money — and nothing else." 

"You are a stupid good-for-nothing 
inn-keeper," cried Don Quixote, and spur- 
ring Rosinante, he rode off without notic- 
ing whether his squire followed or not. 

The host, who had not dared to stop 
him, now turned on Sancho Panza. The 
latter declared that, as his master had not 
paid, he did not need to do it either, see- 
ing that he was the squire of a knight 
errant, and the same law held good for 
both. 



The Mad Knight 69 

The landlord grew angry and threat- 
ened to make him suffer for it if he refused 
to pay. Sancho declared he would not 
pay a penny if it cost him his life, for he 
did not wish to be the one to let the good 
old customs of chivalry die out. 

Unfortunately for Sancho, there were 
some lively people among the guests in 
the inn, who were always ready for all 
sorts of tricks. As if moved by one 
thought, the whole six of them fell upon 
Sancho, dragged him off his donkey, 
fetched a quilt and threw him into it. 
Looking up, they discovered that the room 
was too low for their purpose, so they 
went out into the yard, laid Sancho in the 
coverlet and tossed him up in the air. 

The shrieks of poor Sancho reached his 
master, who gradually realized that it was 
his squire who was screaming so lustily. 
He turned back instantly, but finding the 
inn shut up, rode round to discover a place 
to enter by. Hardly had he reached the 



70 The Mad Knight 

wall of the courtyard when he perceived 
the cruel trick which was being played 
upon his squire. He tried to climb from 
his saddle onto the wall, but the pain of his 
late beating prevented his dismounting. 
He gave vent to a volley of abuse, directed 
against the men, who were tossing his 
squire so unmercifully. Xot, however, 
until they were tired of the sport did they 
let Sancho go. Then, seating him on his 
ass, they put on his mantle, and Mari- 
tornes, the maid, a good-natured soul, 
brought him some wine, which she paid 
for out of her own pocket. Sancho opened 
the gate and trotted out of the courtyard, 
quite content to have had his way and paid 
no bill. Only in the hurry he had for- 
gotten his wallet. 



CHAPTER IV 

"Ti /Ty good Sancho," said Don Quixote, 
IVJ. when his squire had overtaken 
him, "I am now quite convinced that this 
inn is an enchanted castle, for these people 
who have treated us so abominably can be 
nothing else but ghosts and creatures of 
another world." 

Sancho was not to be converted to this 
view of the matter. He believed firmly 
that the people who had amused them- 
selves so cruellv with him were the direct 
opposite of ghosts, and he held to this 
opinion in opposition to his master. 

While they were exchanging comments 
on their adventure, Don Quixote caught 
sight of a great cloud of dust on the road, 
and cried out joyfully: 

"This, O Sancho! is the day when people 
shall learn what fame fate has in store for 

71 



72 The Mad Knight 

me. Do you see the cloud of dust yonder? 
It has been whirled up by a great army." 

"At that rate, there must be two armies, 
for on the opposite side is likewise a cloud 
of dust." 

Don Quixote looked across and saw that 
Sancho was right. He was thoroughly de- 
lighted, never for an instant doubting but 
that two armies were about to attack each 
other on this broad plain. 

The cloud of dust was reallv caused bv 
two great flocks of sheep advancing along 
the road in different directions. 

Don Quixote persisted so firmly in his 
delusion that at length Sancho Panza 
really began to believe, and asked: 

"Gracious, master, what are we to do, 
then?" 

"What?" cried Don Quixote. "Assist 
the oppressed and suffering. You must 
know, Sancho, that the great army coming 
toward us is in the command of the great 
Emperor Alifanfaron, lord of the great 



The Mad Knight 7a 

island of Taprobana; the other, which is 
behind us, is headed by his enemy, Pen- 
tapolin, the king of the Garamantians, a 
people of Africa." 

"Why are they enemies?" asked Sancho. 

"Because this Alifanfaron is an obsti- 
nate heathen, who wishes to wed the beau- 
tiful daughter of Pentapolin. He, being 
a Christian, will not consent until the 
heathen renounces the false doctrines of 
his prophet, Mahomet." 

"By my beard," cried Sancho, "this 
Pentapolin is right, and I shall help him 
as well as I can." 

"And thereby you will do your duty," 
replied Don Quixote, "for you need not 
be a knight to fight in this cause." 

"But what shall I do with my donkey? 
I certainly can not go into battle on it; 
that would be against all rules." 

"Let the donkey go," cried Don Quix- 
ote. "There will be so many horses in the 
battle that probably even Rosinante will 



74 The Mad Knight 

be exchanged for another. But now pay 
heed to my words, for I am about to point 
out to you the noblest knights in both 
armies." 

After this speech they ascended a small 
hill, from which they could easily have seen 
the two flocks had not the dust-cloud been 
so dense. 

"That knight whom you see in the yel- 
low armor," began Don Quixote, "is the 
brave Sir Laurealco, lord of the Silver 
Bridge. The one with the gold-flowered 
armor with the three silver crowns on a 
blue field is the terrible Micocolembo, 
grand duke of Quiracia. The one on his 
right with the gigantic limbs is the fearless 
Brandabarbaran of Boliche, the lord of 
the three Arabias. His armor is a ser- 
pent's skin and his shield is a door; ac- 
cording to report, it is one of the doors of 
the temple which Samson tore down, when 
revenging himself upon his enemies by 
killing himself." 



The Mad Knight 75 

And so out of his imagination he named 
and described every knight of whom he 
had read in his romances. For a quarter 
of an hour he continued thus, when San- 
cho, who up to then had listened silently, 
said: 

"The fiend is in it, noble master, for 
never a giant nor man nor knight is to 
be seen ! At least, I can distinguish noth- 
ing. Perhaps it is more witchcraft." 

"How can you say that?" cried Don 
Quixote. "Do you not hear the neighing 
of horses, the blast of trumpets, and the 
roll of drums?" 

"I hear nothing but the bleating of 
sheep and rams," replied Sancho, and he 
was quite right, for the two flocks were 
now approaching each other. 

"Fear prevents you from hearing and 
seeing aright," said Don Quixote. "In 
case you are afraid, draw to one side and 
leave me alone, for I am strong enough to 
bring success to whichever side I espouse." 



76 The Mad Knight 

With these words he rode quickly down 
the hill, while Sancho called after him: 

"Turn back, Senor Don Quixote, for I 
swear to you they are only sheep and rams 
that you are going to attack. Turn back ! 
What folly! Only remember, there are 
no giants and no knights there. What is 
the matter with you ? Oh ! poor sinner that 
I am!" 

But Don Quixote did not turn back ; on 
the contrary, he rode on, calling out 
loudly : 

"Come, now, brave knights, who serve 
and fight under the banner of the noble 
Emperor Pentapolin, follow me all, and 
you will see how easily I shall avenge him 
on his enemy Alifanfaron of Taprobana!" 

With these words he dashed into the 
midst of the flock of sheep and began to 
lay about him with as much courage and 
valor as though his lance were really di- 
rected against his deadliest enemy. 

The owners of the sheep and the shep- 



The Mad Knight 77 

herds called to him to stop, but their cries 
were unheeded. Thereupon they drew 
slings from their belts and began to hurl 
stones at the knight. Don Quixote took 
no notice of the missiles, but dashed about 
in all directions, crying, "Where are you, 
haughty Alifanfaron? Come to me! 
Here is a knight who will prove your 
strength face to face and who will take 
your life in revenge for the insults you 
have offered to the brave Pentapolin of 
Garamantia !" 

At this moment a flint-stone came whiz- 
zing along and struck Don Quixote in the 
side, breaking in two of his ribs. Believ- 
ing himself to be mortally wounded, he 
suddenly remembered his magic draught, 
and pulling the little bottle from his 
pocket, he began to sip the healing liquid. 

Suddenly another stone struck the flask, 
shattered it into fragments, knocked out 
three or four of Don Quixote's front teeth 
and bruised two of his fingers. The shock 



78 The Mad Knight 

of the blow hurled him from his horse, and 
the shepherds, believing they had killed 
him, hastily collected their flocks, carried 
away the seven or eight dead animals, and 
made off, without once looking back. 

Sancho had remained the whole time on 
the hill, watching the antics of his master, 
tearing out his hair, and cursing the hour 
and minute when fate had thrown him 
together with such a madman. Seeing the 
knight lying on the ground, he hurried 
to him, and found that, although con- 
scious, he was in a bad condition. 

"Did I not tell you, Senor Don Quix- 
ote," said Sancho, "to turn back, for that 
it was no army, only a flock of sheep ?" 

"Yes," groaned the knight. "So can 
that abominable magician, my enemy, 
change everything. You know, Sancho, 
that it is easy for a magician to make us 
see everything as he wishes, so that knave, 
envious of my glory, changed the oppos- 
ing army into a flock of sheep. . . . But 



The Mad Knight 79 

come, now, feel with your finger in my 
mouth and find out how many front and 
side teeth I have lost, for I feel great pain 
in my upper jaw." 

Sancho put his finger in his master's 
mouth, and feeling his jaw, said: 

"How many teeth did your Grace have 
on this side?" 

"Four," answered Don Quixote, "and 
all of them, except the wisdom tooth, were 
strong and sound." 

"Consider well what you are saying 
now, your Grace," cried Sancho. 

"Four, I tell you, if it wasn't five," an- 
swered Don Quixote, "for in my whole life 
I have never lost a tooth through decay or 
rheumatism." 

"Well, then, in the lower jaw you have 
now only two and one-half teeth on this 
side and in the upper one neither a half 
tooth nor a whole one either, for it is as 
flat as the palm of my hand." 

Don Quixote lamented greatly over the 



80 The Mad Knight 

loss of his teeth, for, as he said, a mouth 
without teeth is like a mill without a mill- 
stone* "But we of the noble order of 
knights are exposed to all this," he added 
resignedly. "Mount, now, friend Sancho, 
and be leader. I shall follow wherever 
you go." 

So master and man (the former tor- 
tured by toothache) left the unlucky spot 
to seek a shelter. 

Night surprised them on the road, and 
they were without shelter or food, for their 
provision sack had gotten lost. It was a 
very serious loss, indeed, for after per- 
forming such heroic deeds, and encounter- 
ing such adventures, hunger and thirst 
asserted themselves vigorously. 

In spite of the darkness, they rode on, 
for Sancho hoped to find a shelter after 
two or three miles 5 ride. Suddenly they 
perceived a number of lights coming 
toward them, which looked like falling 
stars. Sancho nearly fainted with terror 



The Mad Knight 81 

at the sight, and even the brave knight 
shuddered. They reined in their steeds 
and endeavored to find out what it could 
be. The lights came nearer, and seemed 
to grow larger. Sancho began to tremble 
as though he had swallowed quicksilver, 
and Don Quixote's hair stood on end. 

"It is doubtless a great and dangerous 
adventure," said he, "which will require all 
my courage and boldness." 

"Unhappy me," cried Sancho. "If it 
should prove an adventure with ghosts, as 
it appears to be, where can one find the 
strength to withstand them?" 

"No matter how many ghosts there may 
be/' answered Don Quixote, "I will not 
allow one of them to touch you." 

"If, however, they enchant you and 
make you powerless?" replied Sancho 
doubtfully. 

"All the same," retorted Don Quixote. 
"Come, now, cheer up, and I shall show 
what courage I have." 



82 The Mad Knight 

"Well, with God's will, I shall be cour- 
ageous," answered Sancho. 

They left the road and watched the 
mysterious moving lights from the side. 
Soon they perceived white-clad figures ap- 
proaching. This awful sight dissipated 
Sancho's courage. His teeth chattered 
like a man with the fever, and he trembled 
even more when he saw what it all really 
was. About twenty mounted men in sur- 
plices, with lighted torches in their hands, 
rode before a litter hung with black cloth, 
and followed by six riders, whose mules 
were draped in black. The men in sur- 
plices chanted in a doleful strain as they 
went along. 

This strange apparition, at such an 
hour, and in such a lonely spot, was suffi- 
cient to terrify not only Sancho, but Don 
Quixote. Suddenly the whole affair as- 
sumed a different aspect in the knight's 
imagination. He saw in the litter a funeral 
bier, on which lay fatally wounded, or 



The Mad Knight 83 

murdered, a knight whom he must avenge. 
Without further consideration, he laid his 
spear in rest, settled himself firmly in his 
saddle, and took up a position in the 
middle of the road, where the procession 
must pass. When they approached, he 
raised his voice and called out: 

"Halt, noble knights, wheresoever you 
come from, and tell me who you are, 
whither you travel, where vou came from, 
and what you are carrying on this bier. 
For according to all appearances a wrong 
has been done by you or against you." 

"We must hurry on," answered one of 
the surpliced figures. "It is still far to the 
inn, and we cannot stop to give you in- 
formation." 

The speaker rode on, but Don Quixote, 
angered by this answer, caught his mule's 
bridle and said: 

"Halt, and be more courteous, other- 
wise I shall kill you one and all." 

The mule shied, reared, and threw its 



84 The Mad Knight 

rider. A boy near by began abusing Don 
Quixote, and the latter, already irritated, 
threw himself upon one of the mourners, 
wounded him seriously, and then turned 
upon the others. They quickly dispersed, 
for the men in the surplices were timid 
folk, and dashed off across the fields, 
carrying their torches with them, and look- 
ing like masqueraders at carnival time. 
Those who wore priestly garments could 
not get away so quickly, and the gallant 
knight thrashed them with but little diffi- 
culty. At last the field was clear. The 
mourners all believed that it was no man, 
but a fiend who had come to carry off the 
corpse. 

Sancho, who stood an attentive specta- 
tor, was astonished by his master's daring. 
i; There is no doubt," said he to himself, 
"my master is as brave and valiant as he 
says." 

A smoldering torch lay on the ground. 
Bv its lisfht Don Quixote could see the 



The Mad Knight 85 

man he had wounded and knocked down. 
In reply to the knight's questions, he an- 
swered : 

"We come from the city of Baega and 
are going to Segovia, as escort to the body 
of a knight, who is to be buried there in 
his native town." 

"And who killed him?" asked Don 
Quixote, 

"God, through a contagious sickness," 
replied the other, and begged the knight 
to help him out from under the mule, 
where his leg was being crushed between 
the saddle and the stirrup. 

Don Quixote called to his servant, who, 
however, took no notice, being employed 
in transferring provisions from the back 
of a pack-mule which the gentlemen had 
with them to his own mantle. He had 
formed it into a sack, and packing it full 
of provisions, placed it on the donkey's 
back. Then, at last, he obeyed his mas- 
ter's command, pulled the man from un- 



86 The Mad Knight 

derneath the horse, and handed him his 
torch. 

"Should your masters desire to know 
who the hero is who attacked them," said 
Sancho Panza, as the man set out to fol- 
low his companions, "tell them that it was 
the celebrated Don Quixote of La Man- 
cha, also called the Knight of the Rueful 
Countenance." 

When the man was gone, Don Quixote 
asked his servant why he had given him 
that name. 

"I shall tell you why," said Sancho. 
"While watching you in the torchlight, I 
noticed you cut the sorriest figure I have 
ever seen. It is caused probably by the 
fatigue of fighting or the loss of your 
teeth." 

"No, that's not it," answered Don 
Quixote, "but the wise magician, whose 
duty it is to write down my deeds, will 
have thought it right for me to have a 
surname, like all the great knights. Some 



The Mad Knight 87 

were of the Flaming Sword, others of the 
Unicorn, the Phoenix, the Griffin, and 
were known all over by these names. So 
that the name may suit me better, I shall 
have a mournful countenance painted on 
my shield." 

"That's not necessary," said Sancho. 
"Your Grace only needs to show your own 
face; that is quite sufficient." 

Don Quixote laughed at Sancho's idea, 
but decided, nevertheless, to adopt this 
name as soon as he could get his shield 
painted. 

"I see now, Sancho," said he, "that I am 
under the ban of the Church, because I 
have laid hands on what was holy, though 
it really was my spear, not my hand, that 
I laid on it. I never meant to attack any 
one belonging to the Church, for I honor 
and revere them as a good Catholic and 
Christian. I believed I was fighting 
ghosts and evil spirits from the other 
world." 



88 The Mad Knight 

"Senor," said Sancho, "you have es- 
caped wonderfully in this adventure; but 
it might happen that these people, 
ashamed of having been conquered by one 
man, would reassemble and return to give 
us something to remember them by. My 
donkey is worn out, the mountains are 
near, and hunger is beginning to make 
itself felt." 

Don Quixote understood his squire, and 
realizing that he was right, followed him 
without opposition. 



CHAPTER V 

After riding a short distance, Don 
Quixote and his squire found them- 
selves in a lonely valley, where they dis- 
mounted, Sancho unloaded the provisions 
from his donkey, and, stretched on the 
grass, they took their breakfast, lunch, 
dinner, and supper all in one. Unfortu- 
nately, they had no wine, not even a drop 
of water, to quench their thirst. Sancho 
remarked that the meadow in which they 
sat was covered with fresh, tender grass, 
and from this fact concluded that a stream- 
let or a spring must be somewhere near. 
They decided, therefore, to push on. The 
darkness of the night prevented them see- 
ing where they were going, but hardly 
had they advanced two hundred paces 
when a mighty roar, as of water dashing 
over high rocks, greeted their ears. Their 

89 



90 The Mad Knight 

joy was quickly dampened, for besides the 
roar of water, they heard a regular stamp- 
ing sound and a clattering of chains and 
iron, which would have terrified any one 
less courageous than Don Quixote. The 
night was pitch-dark, and they found 
themselves in the midst of lofty trees, 
whose leaves rustled eerily in the breeze. 
The loneliness of the spot, the darkness, 
the roar of waters, and the sighing of the 
trees were enough to frighten the bravest 
spirit. 

Don Quixote sprang on his horse and 
flourished his lance bravely. 

"Friend Sancho," said he, "my courage 
goads me to plunge into this adventure. 
Remain here, and wait for three days — no 
longer. If I do not return within this 
time, you can go back to our village, and 
from thence to Toboso, where you will tell 
my peerless mistress, Dulcinea, that her 
knight has perished in the accomplishment 
of great deeds." 



The Mad Knight 91 

On hearing this Sancho burst into tears 
and said: 

"Sefior, I can't imagine why your Grace 
wishes to rush into this fearful undertak- 
ing. It is night, and no one can see us here. 
We might easily take another road and 
get out of danger, even if we have to go 
three days without water. I have often 
heard our pastor say, 'He who courts dan- 
ger, perishes in it.' It isn't right to tempt 
Providence by seeking a danger from 
which only a miracle can save you. And 
Heaven has already worked enough mir- 
acles for your Grace; first, by preserving 
you from the tossing I got, and, secondly, 
by helping you to drive off all those en- 
emies escorting the corpse. But should 
your hard heart still remain unmoved by 
all these things, remember that, as soon as 
your Grace leaves me, I shall die of fright. 
And I left home and kindred to serve you, 
hoping to advance myself in the world, in- 
stead of going down. He who expects 



92 The Mad Knight 

much, gets little; so all my plans have 
come to nought. Just as I expected to 
receive that accursed island, which your 
Grace promised me faithfully, I find that 
you mean to abandon me in a lonely, deso- 
late spot!" 

All poor Sancho's appeals were in vain. 
Don Quixote was determined to attempt 
the adventure, and commanded Sancho to 
tighten Rosinante's girth and remain be- 
hind. "For," said he, "I shall soon return, 
alive or dead!" 

Seeing that persuasion was useless, 
Sancho had recourse to cunning. While 
tightening Rosinante's girth, he slyly 
bound her two forelegs together with the 
donkey's halter, so that when Don Quix- 
ote wished to ride off, he found it impos- 
sible to do so, as his horse could only move 
by jerks. Rejoiced at the success of his 
trick, Sancho said: 

"Now, Senor, moved by my tears and 
prayers, Heaven has so ordained that 



The Mad Knight 93 

Rosinante can not move from the spot." 

Don Quixote was in despair. His fail- 
ure to bring the horse forward proved to 
him that nothing was to be done at present. 

"As things are so," he said, "I must re- 
sign myself to waiting till sunrise, though 
I could cry at this loss of time." 

"You need not weep, my lord," an- 
swered Sancho. "I will entertain you till 
daybreak with all kinds of stories." 

Don Quixote listened to his squire's 
stories till morning dawned. Sancho then 
cautiously unbound Rosinante's legs and 
the animal began to stamp with pleasure. 
Don Quixote took this for a good omen. 
As the light grew brighter, he perceived 
that they were among high chestnut trees. 
The roaring and clattering had not ceased, 
and the knight was impatient to attempt 
this fateful adventure. 

He said farewell to Sancho, bidding him 
wait only three days; as to his wages, he 
need have no fear; before leaving home 



94 The Mad Knight 

he had made his will, in which Sancho was 
remembered. Should he return unharmed, 
however, Sancho might reckon quite surely 
upon the island. 

The squire burst into tears, but this did 
not move Don Quixote, who rode off in 
the direction whence the sounds came. 
Sancho followed him on foot, leading his 
ass. 

After some time they reached a meadow, 
lying at the foot of a precipice, over which 
thundered a waterfall. Near the rocks 
stood some miserable little huts, from 
which the noise and stamping seemed to 
issue. Don Quixote rode slowly up, pray- 
ing Heaven to bring him safe out of this 
danger. The faithful Sancho never 
moved from his side, but peered out be- 
tween Rosinante's legs to see what the 
noise could possibly mean. 

A few steps further on they turned a 
corner and saw six stampers belonging to 



The Mad Knight 95 

a fulling-mill, which accounted for the 
noise they had heard. 

Don Quixote was speechless and grew 
stiff all over. Sancho glanced at him, and 
saw that he hung his head, which clearly 
indicated that he was ashamed of himself. 
He looked at his squire, who was ready 
to burst with laughter, then even he him- 
self had to laugh. When Sancho saw that 
his master had given the signal, he broke 
out into a roar and laughed until he had 
to hold his sides. Four times he stopped, 
and then began again, until Don Quixote 
raised his spear and gave him two heavy 
blows on the back. Seeing that his master 
took the matter badly, Sancho said sooth- 
ingly: "Calm yourself, my lord, I was 
only joking." 

"So?" said Don Quixote. "Well, I was 
not. Do you imagine for a moment that 
had this tumult proved to be something 
more dangerous than the noise of a mill, 



96 The Mad Knight 

I would not have faced it bravely? Am 
I expected to distinguish the sounds pro- 
duced by a fulling-mill? I never saw one 
in my life, while you, as a peasant, must 
know them well. Turn these six stampers 
into six giants, and if I do not overthrow 
them, then you can laugh at me as much as 
you wish." 

Sancho, realizing his mistake, tried to 
calm his master. 

It had begun to rain, and Sancho would 
gladly have taken shelter in the fulling- 
mill, but Don Quixote would not hear of 
it. They turned off to the right, and took 
another road. Soon a rider appeared, 
wearing something on his head which shone 
like gold. 

"It appears to me," cried Don Quixote 
on catching sight of him, "that we are 
about to meet with a different adventure 
from that of the mill-stampers. If I am 
not mistaken, he who approaches wears 
the helmet of Mambrino on his head." 



The Mad Knight 97 

"All I can see," replied Sancho, "is a 
man on a gray donkey like my own, and 
with some shining object on his head." 

"That," said Don Quixote, "is the hel- 
met of Mambrino. Stand aside and leave 
me alone with him. You shall see how — 
without speaking a word — I shall finish 
this adventure and obtain possession of the 
helmet." 

"Certainly, I'll stand aside," said San- 
cho, "and God grant, say I, that it may be 
a melon, not a mill, this time." 

"I have already told you not to mention 
the story of the mill to me," said Don 
Quixote, "otherwise I shall say nothing 
further, but I'll thrash the life out of 
you." 

Sancho remained silent, fearing that his 
master might carry out his threat. 

As to the helmet, horse, and rider, which 
Don Quixote had seen, they may be ex- 
plained as follows: 

In this very neighborhood there were 



98 The Mad Knight 

two villages, one of which boasted of an 
apothecary and a barber, while the other 
had neither. Now, the barber was just on 
his way to the smaller village, in order to 
bleed a sick man and shave one of his cus- 
tomers. He carried his brass shaving dish 
along, and as it was raining, he clapped it 
on his head to save his new hat. The dish 
was highly polished and could be seen 
shining a mile off. Don Quixote took the 
gray donkey for a dappled steed and the 
barber for a knight with a golden helmet. 

The unsuspecting barber was quite close 
now, and Don Quixote grasped his spear 
and galloped toward him with the cry: 

"Defend yourself, miscreant, or deliver 
over to me what is mine by right !" 

The poor barber, terrified by this ap- 
parition, slid off his donkey and darted 
across the fields like a deer, leaving the 
brass shaving dish lying on the ground. 
Don Quixote declared that the heathen 



The Mad Knight 99 

had acted wisely, and took possession of 
the shaving dish. 

He put it on at once, turned it from 
side to side, and endeavored to find the 
lower spring. Failing to do so, he re- 
marked: 

' 'Doubtless the heathen for whom this 
tourney helmet was made had a very large 
head. The strangest thing about it is that 
the lower half seems to be missing." 

On hearing this, Sancho could not re- 
strain his laughter. 

"What are you laughing at?" demanded 
Don Quixote. 

"I can't help laughing when I think of 
the head of the heathen to whom this hel- 
met belonged. It looks very much like 
a shaving dish. But enough of that. Tell 
me what we are to do with this dapple 
gray steed, which has somewhat the look 
of a donkey. Judging by his hasty de- 
parture, its master has no desire to fetch 
it." 



100 The Mad Knight 

"I am not accustomed to plundering 
those whom I conquer," replied Don 
Quixote. "It is not a chivalrous custom. 
So, Sancho, set free this horse, or donkey, 
or whatever you think it is, for as soon as 
its master sees that we are gone, he will 
come back to get it." 

Sancho, however, succeeded in obtaining 
his master's consent to exchanging the har- 
ness of his own donkey for that of the 
barber's. 

After this they breakfasted, drinking 
water from the mill-stream, to which, how- 
ever, they turned their backs, so angry 
were they at the fright it caused them. 

On starting off again they took the di- 
rection of the highroad, expecting to en- 
counter more adventures there. As they 
rode along, they met a considerable num- 
ber of people, all walking in a line, like 
beads on a string. They were chained to 
each other by the wrists, and all wore 
handcuffs. Two men on horseback and 



The Mad Knight 101 

two on foot escorted them. The former 
carried muskets, the latter javelins. 

"Here comes a gang of galley-slaves/' 
said Sancho on seeing them. "They are 
compelled by the king to work in the 
galleys." 

"What ! Compelled to work? Is it pos- 
sible that the king compels any one?" asked 
Don Quixote. 

"I do not say that," replied Sancho. "I 
mean that these are people who must be 
punished for their crimes." 

"In a word," cried Don Quixote, "these 
people go, not of their own free will, but 
because they are obliged to?" 

"Just so," answered Sancho. 

"In that case," cried his master, "here 
is an opportunity for me to assist the op- 
pressed." 

"But consider, your Grace," remon- 
strated Sancho, "the king does not injure 
or oppress these people. He only pun- 
ishes them for their crimes." 



102 The Mad Knight 

In the meantime the galley-slaves had 
approached, and Don Quixote politely re- 
quested the guards to explain why these 
people were in chains. 

One of the horsemen replied that they 
were galley-slaves, and that more than 
that he did not need to say nor Don Quix- 
ote to know. 

This answer did not satisfy the gallant 
knight. He did not cease until the guard 
allowed him to question each prisoner as 
to the nature and magnitude of his crime. 
All acknowledged their guilt, but told 
their stories so feelingly that the knight's 
sympathy was aroused, and he commanded 
the commissioner in charge to set them 
free or he would compel him to do so by 
force of arms. 

The commissioner ordered Don Quixote 
to go his way and not bother about the 
galley-slaves, whereupon the knight 
charged upon the official and knocked him 
to the ground with a blow of his spear. 



The Mad Knight 103 

The other guards were at first astonished 
by the incident, but quickly rushed upon 
the knight, with whom it would have fared 
badly had not the prisoners broken their 
chains at that moment and obliged the 
guards to turn their attention upon them. 
It ended in the guards being obliged to 
flee. 

Don Quixote met with the rankest in- 
gratitude from the convicts. No sooner 
had the guards disappeared than they 
turned on the knight and made merry over 
his appearance. When he resented their 
ingratitude, they began pelting him with 
stones, and, dragging him off his horse, 
snatched off his doublet and Sancho's 
cloak. Then they ran away in all direc- 
tions with whatever booty they could seize. 
The precious shaving dish they had already 
smashed to atoms. 

Poor Sancho Panza was devoured by 
anxiety, believing that at any moment "the 
holy brotherhood" might appear. This 



104 The Mad Knight 

was a society whose members had volun- 
tarily undertaken the duty of wandering 
over the country to free it of criminals. 
They had, however, the unpleasant habit 
of shooting criminals with arrows. 

Don Quixote admitted that all this 
trouble would have been spared them had 
he followed Sancho's advice. 

"As your Grace acknowledges that we 
would have escaped this danger had you 
taken my advice, so I beg of you to be ad- 
vised by me before some greater misfor- 
tune befalls us. Do not forget that chiv- 
alry can do nought against the 'holy 
brotherhood,' for they care nothing for 
wandering knights. I feel their arrows 
already whizzing round my ears." 

"You are a born coward," cried Don 
Quixote. "But to show you that I am not 
unreasonable, I will accept your advice 
this time; on the one condition, however, 
that you never — in life or in death — tell 
any one that I avoided this danger through 
fear." 



The Mad Knight 105 

Sancho promised readily, declaring that 
"retreat was not flight." 

They mounted and rode forward till 
they reached the foothills of the Sierra 
Morena (Moor), which lie between La 
Mancha and Andalusia, and are so called 
on account of the dark-brown color of 
their sides. 

Sancho intended to cross the mountains 
and hide among them for a few days, so 
that the holy brotherhood might not find 
them. That night they reached the fast- 
nesses of the mountains and encamped 
amidst the rocks and cork trees, intending 
to remain there as long as their provisions 
held out. 

By a caprice of fate, it chanced that one 
of the convicts who had been released by 
Don Quixote's folly had also sought ref- 
uge in this spot. He was called Gines de 
Passamonte, and was the greatest thief 
and rascal imaginable. On arriving at the 
place where Don Quixote and his servant 



106 The Mad Knight 

were encamped, he instantly decided to 
steal Sancho's ass, and, thanks to the dark- 
ness and the unconsciousness of the sleep- 
ing adventurers, he easily carried out his 
evil design. 

Morning dawned and found Sancho 
Panza donkey less! His lamentations 
filled the air. 

"Oh ! Son of my heart !" cried he, "born 
in my own house, my children's treasure, 
my wife's delight, my neighbor's envy. 
Oh ! thou bearer of my burdens !" 

Don Quixote tried to console him and 
promised him three of the five donkeys he 
had left at home. That comforted poor 
Sancho and he thanked his master heartily . 

Their sojourn seemed to fill the morbid 
imagination of Don Quixote with new and 
wonderful ideas. 

"Sancho," said he one day to his squire, 
"you will have to go to my mistress, Dul- 
cinea, at Toboso. I am sending you with 
a letter in which I announce myself as her 



The Mad Knight 107 

faithful knight, who roams the world in 
search of adventure and who has already 
performed the most unheard-of feats, to 
which you can testify, as I have written 
her. The letter is in this note-book, which 
you are to take to the nearest village, 
where you will copy it on note-paper. It 
contains also an order for the three don- 
keys I promised you." 

Don Quixote gave his squire all sorts 
of directions and advice. He particularly 
warned him to mark the road in some way, 
so that he might find no difficulty in re- 
turning to him. It would be best, perhaps, 
to drop twigs of broom at certain distances. 

"That's what I'll do," said Sancho, and 
bidding his master farewell, he mounted 
Rosinante. 

The Knight of the Rueful Countenance 
remained behind, wondering what recep- 
tion his ambassador would receive from 
the lady of Toboso. 



CHAPTER VI 

In the meantime Sancho Panza was 
making his way to Toboso. On the 
day following his departure he arrived at 
the inn where he had been so badly treated. 
It was midday, and Sancho was very 
hungry and thirsty, but he did not dare to 
enter, for the very sight of the inn gave 
him the sensation of being tossed in the 
blanket again. While he was reflecting 
what to do, two men came out of the inn. 
They turned out to be the priest and the 
barber of Don Quixote's village, and of 
course knew Sancho Panza and Rosinante 
at once. 

" Where is your master, friend Sancho V 9 
asked the priest. 

Sancho, who had recognized them in- 
stantly, decided to conceal the condition 

108 






The Mad Knight 109 

and the hiding-place of his master, so he 
answered : 

"My master is at a certain spot, engaged 
on a certain project which is very impor- 
tant to him, and which I may not betray, 
even to save my life." 

"No, no, Sancho Panza," replied the 
barber, "if you do not tell us where he is, 
we must only believe that you have killed 
and robbed him, seeing that you are riding 
on his horse. Seriously, you must show 
us the master of the horse or " 

"Threats will not answer with me," re- 
torted Sancho. "I am not the man to rob 
or kill another. My master is yonder, in 
the mountains, and he is doing penance." 

Then he told them of the commission 
to Mistress Dulcinea of Toboso, with 
which his master had entrusted him. They 
desired Sancho to show them his master's 
letter. He replied that it was written in 
a note-book, and that the knight had or- 
dered him to copy it on note-paper in the 



110 The Mad Knight 

nearest village. The priest promised to 
copy it in his best handwriting, if Sancho 
would show it to them. 

The squire wished to draw the book out 
of his doublet — and found that it was 
gone ! His master had forgotten to give it 
to him, but Sancho had not remarked this 
trifling omission. He felt all over for it, 
then tore his beard and struck himself in 
the face till the blood flowed. 

"Why, what's the matter with you, 
Sancho?" cried the priest and the barber. 

"Only that in one instant I have lost 
three fine, strong donkeys!" replied 
Sancho. 

"How's that?" asked the barber. 

"I've lost the note-book," said Sancho, 
"with the letter for Dulcinea and the order 
signed by my master, in which he directs 
his niece to give me three out of the four 
or five donkeys he has in his stable." 

The priest comforted him by telling him 
that as soon as they found his master they 



The Mad Knight 111 

would get him to make out the order on 
paper, as was customary. 

This consoled Sancho for the loss of the 
letter, which he assured them he knew by 
heart. At the priest's request he recited 
it, but put so much rubbish into it that it 
was irresistibly funny. He went on to re- 
late all the adventures of himself and his 
master, only omitting his own experience 
in the inn. He declared to them that 
should the mission to Dulcinea prove suc- 
cessful, his master would shortly become 
emperor or king, and would then bestow 
one of the queen's maids of honor upon 
him, Sancho, as wife, for by that time he 
would be a widower. This lady was to 
bring him as dowry an immense property 
on the mainland, as he wished to have noth- 
ing more to do with islands for the future. 

Sancho told all this so seriously that the 
others were aghast at the craziness of the 
knight and the credulity of his servant. 
They thought it better to leave him in his 



112 The Mad Knight 

delusions and merely begged him to pray 
God that his master might live to become 
an emperor. 

"For the present," said the priest, "we 
must only try and make him give up his 
senseless penance. And now let us go into 
this inn and have dinner." 

Sancho declared he would remain out- 
side, and would tell them later why he 
preferred not to enter. He begged them, 
however, to send him out something warm 
to eat, and some oats for Rosinante, and 
the barber himself saw that he got every- 
thing he wanted. During dinner the priest 
and his companion planned how they could 
get the mad knight home. The former 
suggested dressing himself up as a maiden 
in distress, who was seeking a brave knight 
to accompany her and avenge an insult 
offered to her by a wicked knight. At the 
same time she would beg him not to ask 
her to raise her veil nor inquire aught about 
her until he had righted her wrongs. 



The Mad Knight 113 

The barber was to disguise himself as a 
squire and follow him. 

From the hostess they obtained the 
necessary feminine attire to carry out their 
plan, and the barber made a beard for 
himself out of a red bullock's tail, which 
he found in the stable. 

The people of the inn learned for what 
purpose the disguise was being assumed, 
and guessed at once that it must be the 
crazy knight who had stopped there 
shortly before, and they related the whole 
affair, not forgetting poor Sancho's mis- 
adventure. 

When their disguises were ready the 
pair started off, but very soon the priest 
repented of having assumed female at- 
tire, declaring that it did not suit his call- 
ing, even if so much did depend on it. He 
begged the barber to change clothes with 
him, and the latter consented. 

Sancho could not resist laughing when 
he saw the strange appearance of the two, 



114 The Mad Knight 

though the barber had decided not to put 
on the disguise until they reached the 
mountain. The following day they ar- 
rived at the spot where Sancho had 
dropped the twigs to guide him. He 
recognized the place at once, and told his 
companions to dress up here, if it were 
really necessary for the good of his master. 
Sancho was carefully instructed how to 
behave ; under no circumstances was he to 
betray their identity, but was to say that 
the Lady Dulcinea, who could neither 
read nor write, demanded, under pain of 
her displeasure, that Don Quixote come 
to her at once, if he wished to become 
either king or emperor. 

Sancho rode forward to give his master 
Dulcinea's message, which he declared 
would be sufficient to induce him to leave 
his present place of refuge. His proposal 
pleased the others, and they decided to 
await Sancho's return with news of his 
master. 



The Mad Knight 115 

After waiting a short time under the 
shady chestnut trees, the priest and the 
barber were surprised to hear footsteps 
approaching. Looking up, they saw a 
fresh young girl carrying a bundle under 
her arm. At sight of the strangers she 
grew frightened and tried to run away, 
but the priest called to her to stop, telling 
her she need not fear them. 

Reassured by his words, she told him 
that her name was Dorothea, and that she 
had been shepherdess to a peasant in the 
neighborhood, but was now on her way 
to her home. 

The priest replied by confiding to her 
the doings of the mad knight and the ob- 
ject of their presence there. His recital 
was interrupted by the loud cries of 
Sancho, who came hurrying up to tell 
them that he had found his master pale, 
weak, half dead with hunger, but still de- 
termined not to go to Toboso until he had 
performed more deeds of valor. If this 



116 The Mad Knight 

went on, Sancho declared, his master 
would run a small chance of ever becom- 
ing an emperor. 

When Dorothea heard the story she 
offered to undertake the role of distressed 
damsel, and assured them that, having 
read many romances of chivalry, she 
would know well how to carry out the 
trick. 

They accepted her offer at once, and 
Dorothea took her best clothes out of her 
bundle and retired for a few moments to 
put them on. When she returned she 
looked more like a young lady of noble 
birth than a shepherdess, and even Sancho 
could not help asking who this beautiful 
damsel might be and what she was doing 
there. 

"This young lady," said the priest, "is 
a princess of the kingdom of Micomicon, 
who seeks your master with the intention 
of demanding a favor from him. She de- 



The Mad Knight 117 

sires him to avenge her upon a wicked 
giant, who has insulted her." 

The priest told him a good deal more 
in the same strain, and was no little aston- 
ished to find that Sancho was as credulous 
as his master. 

Meanwhile Dorothea had mounted the 
priest's mule, and they started on their 
way. After going about three-quarters 
of a mile they encountered Don Quixote. 
The priest hid quickly behind a hedge, 
while Dorothea, dismounting gracefully 
from her mule, with the assistance of her 
squire, threw herself at Don Quixote's 
feet. 

"Oh, brave and valiant knight!" she 
cried. "Never shall I arise from this spot 
until your generosity and kindness shall 
have granted me a favor, which will re- 
dound to your own honor and glory." 

"I shall not answer you a word, 
madam," replied Don Quixote, "nor shall 
I listen to your request, until you rise." 



118 The Mad Knight 

But Dorothea remained kneeling, and 
Sancho Panza, who had appeared, whis- 
pered softly to his master : 

"You can easily grant her request, for 
it is only a trifle for you — merely a matter 
of killing a powerful giant. This lady is 
the Princess Micomicona, queen of the 
great kingdom of Micomicon in Ethi- 
opia." 

"Please to rise, gentle damsel," cried 
Don Quixote, turning to the lady. "I 
willingly grant you the assistance you de- 
sire. 

He raised her from the ground, and 
commanded Sancho to saddle Rosinante 
and prepare his weapons. Sancho brought 
the armor, which was hanging on a tree, 
put it on his master, and then saddled 
Rosinante. 

The barber remained kneeling, and 
tried hard to restrain his laughter and 
keep his beard in position until he saw 
that Don Quixote meant to start off 



The Mad Knight 119 

at once; thereupon he hastened to 
assist the supposed princess to mount. 
Sancho Panza felt rather badly at being 
obliged to go on foot, but he consoled him- 
self with the thought that his master was 
now surely in the way of becoming em- 
peror, for he would of course marry the 
princess and share her kingdom. 

Meanwhile, the priest in his hiding- 
place was busy devising a pretext for 
joining the company. He at last resolved 
to take a short by-path down the moun- 
tain and meet them at the foot, as if by 
accident. When the cavalcade came in 
sight, he rushed forward crying: 

"Blessed be the hour in which I meet 
again the flower of knighthood, my excel- 
lent friend Don Quixote of La Mancha!" 

Don Quixote was fairly terrified by the 
sight of the priest in that spot. He wanted 
to dismount at once, but the priest would 
not hear of it. Master Nicholas jumped 
off at once and offered his mule to the 



120 The Mad Knight 

priest. The mule kicked a few times and 
so scared the barber that he let his beard 
fall. In order not to spoil the plot, he hid 
his face in both hands and complained that 
his back teeth had been knocked out. 
When Don Quixote saw the beard lying 
at a distance from the fallen squire, he 
cried out: 

"As God is above us, that is a great mir- 
acle! The animal has torn off his beard 
as thoroughly as though it had been pur- 
posely cut off!" 

Seeing the ticklish position of the 
barber, the priest hurried to him, picked 
up the beard, and pressing his head 
against his breast, quickly fastened on the 
beard again, whispering something to him- 
self, which Don Quixote took to be some 
healing spell. Then he stood aside, and 
behold! the barber appeared just as be- 
fore. The knight was astounded, and 
begged the priest to take some opportu- 
nity of teaching him this magic formula. 



The Mad Knight 121 

When they had gone a little further the 
priest asked Dorothea, "To what kingdom 
will your Highness lead us? Perhaps to 
Micomicon?" 

Dorothea, who understood at once what 
was meant, replied: "Yes, reverend sir, 
my way leads thither." 
"In that case we must pass through my vil- 
lage," replied the priest. "From there your 
Grace will take the road to Carthagena, 
where, if fate be kind, you may embark 
without delay, and with favorable winds 
and a calm sea, you will arrive at the great 
Lake Meona in about nine years, and in 
about one hundred days more you will 
reach your kingdom." 

"Your reverence is mistaken," replied 
Dorothea. "It is only about two years 
since I started from there, and I did not 
have good weather, yet, nevertheless, here 
I am face to face with him whom I 
sought, Don Quixote of La Mancha!" 

They whiled away the time with stories, 



122 The Mad Knight 

and Don Quixote delighted them with all 
the indescribable nonsense which his mad- 
ness suggested, and the faithful Sancho 
Panza showed that he was not far behind 
his master in richness of imagination. 

While they were going along they per- 
ceived a man riding on a donkey whom 
they took to be a gypsy. Sancho Panza 
fixed his eyes on the donkey, and as they 
came closer he gave vent to a cry of joy, 
for his sharp eyes had recognized the gray 
donkey so lately stolen from him in the 
mountains. 

"Ha, you villain," screamed he, "give 
me back my property. Give me my 
favorite, my life's delight! Be off, you 
thief, you robber!" 

Gines de Passamonte, the rogue who 
had stolen the donkey and had disguised 
himself as a gypsy to escape recognition, 
no sooner heard Sancho's voice than he 
slid down from the donkey's back and ran 
quickly off. Sancho rushed up to the 



The Mad Knight 123 

donkey, embraced it, and caressed it, cry- 
ing tenderly, "How have you been treated, 
my darling, my heart's pet?" 

The donkey quietly accepted these ex- 
travagant caresses, but deigned no an- 
swer. 

The rest of the company now rode up 
and congratulated Sancho, Don Quixote 
promising not to recall the order for the 
three donkeys, to Sancho's great delight. 



CHAPTER VII 

The following day — to Sancho's great 
disgust — they reached the inn where 
he had been tossed. The landlord and his 
wife received Don Quixote and his squire 
with great cordiality, and the knight was 
given a room to rest in after his long ride. 
The barber returned the bullock's tail to 
the landlord, and Dorothea, having de- 
clared that she could no longer play the 
role of Princess Micomicona, the priest 
and the barber decided to plan some other 
means of making the knight return to his 
home. 

In the midst of their discussion they 
were startled by a great commotion in 
Don Quixote's room. Sancho Panza ran 
to see what the trouble was, and returned 
almost immediately, crying that his master 
was engaged in the most terrible combat, 

124 



The Mad Knight 125 

and had struck off the head of the giant 
who had insulted Princess Micomicona as 
though it were a turnip. 

"What do you mean, Sancho Panza?" 
cried the priest. "Are you crazy?" 

At that moment Don Quixote was 
heard calling: 

"Hold! Knave! Highwayman! Your 
scimitar can no longer help you." 

The words were accompanied by furi- 
ous sword thrusts against the wall. 

"Don't stand here/' cried Sancho, urg- 
ing the others on, "but come to my mas- 
ter's assistance ; though really it is hardly 
necessary. The giant is doubtless already 
dead. I myself saw the blood flowing 
when his head, which was as large as a 
wine-gourd, was cut off." 

"I'll be hanged if your crazy Don 
Quixote has not slashed open one of my 
leathern wine-bags," cried the host. "They 
stood at the head of his bed, and this fool 
took the red wine for blood!" 



126 The Mad Knight 

He hurried to the room, followed by 
the others, and there a comical sight met 
their eyes. The knight was attired only 
in his shirt, and on his head he wore an 
old red cap belonging to the host. Round 
his left arm was wound the coverlet, which 
had such unpleasant memories for Sancho, 
and in his right hand he flourished his 
sword, as though attacking the giant, 
while his eyes were tightly closed in sleep. 
In his dreams he was already king of 
Mieomicon, and was fighting the last duel 
with his giant enemy. 

The landlord, who cared little for such 
feats of mad bravery, seized Don Quixote 
and drubbed him soundly. It was not, 
however, until the barber had emptied a 
jug of cold water over him that the knight 
really awoke. He was put to bed again, 
and slept soundly, after the exertions of 
his first uneasy slumber. 

Sancho Panza was in despair, not at the 
madness of his master, but because he 



The Mad Knight 127 

could not find the giant's head, although 
he searched for it over the whole floor. 

"I know very well that everything in 
the house is enchanted/' he declared an- 
grily* "The head has disappeared, al- 
though I myself saw it struck off, and the 
blood gushing from it like water from a 
spring!" 

"What are you saying about blood and 
springs, you enemy of God and the 
saints?" screamed the landlord. "Don't 
you see, you rascal, that there is no blood 
and no spring, but that my wine-bags have 
been slashed open and the red wine is 
spilled all over the room?" 

"I know nothing," replied Sancho, "ex- 
cept that if I do not find the head, my 
whole earldom will melt away." 

Every one laughed at Sancho's non- 
sense except the host, who was furious 
with anger. Once outside the room the 
priest and the barber sought by all the 
means in their power to console him for 



128 The Mad Knight 

the loss of his wine ; his wife was even more 
enraged than he, and swore by the bones 
of her ancestors that every penny of the 
damage would have to be paid. 

Sancho was as disconsolate as the host 
and his wife, because he could not find 
the giant's head, but Dorothea comforted 
him by promising him the finest earldom 
in her kingdom as soon as it was proved 
that his master had really killed the giant. 

During the two days which they spent 
at the inn the priest not only made good 
the damage done to the host, but also ar- 
ranged with the driver of an ox-cart which 
happened to be going that way to assist 
him in getting Don Quixote home. This 
was the plan they had decided upon. They 
were to place Don Quixote in a large 
wickerwork cage, in which he was to be 
conveyed to his home. To prevent his 
recognizing any of them while he was be- 
ing carried to the cage, they were all to 
disguise themselves as best tKey could. 



The Mad Knight 129 

Don Quixote slept peacefully while 
these preparations were in progress, until 
suddenly the conspirators entered his 
room, seized him, and bound him hand and 
foot, so that he could not stir. Amazed 
and breathless, he gazed at the strange 
faces around him, and decided they must 
be the spirits of the enchanted castle and 
that he himself had been bewitched, see- 
ing that he could not move a limb. 

Sancho alone wore no disguise, and was 
sensible enough to recognize who the 
muffled figures were, but he held his tongue, 
and watched with suspense what was going 
to happen next. The cage was brought in, 
and Don Quixote was placed inside it 
and bolted in. When they were leaving 
the room a fearful voice (that of Master 
Nicholas) made itself heard, telling the 
knight not to grieve, but rather to rejoice, 
for that all this must happen to bring the 
adventure to a fitting end. There were 
glorious days still in store for him. Sim- 



130 The Mad Knight 

ilar words were addressed to Saneho, who 
derived much comfort therefrom. He 
kissed his master's hands respectfully, and 
the cage was carried out and placed in 
the ox-cart. 

Before they started, the landlady, with 
her daughter and Maritornes came out 
and pretended to weep over the sad fate 
of Don Quixote. 

"Weep not, gentle dames," cried the 
latter. "Those who choose the career that 
I have undertaken are constantly exposed 
to such misadventures." 

They bade farewell to their hosts, and 
the procession started in the following 
order: First the ox-cart, driven by its 
owner, and flanked on either side by a 
few armed guards, whom the pastor had 
hired at the inn to accompany them; then 
came Saneho Panza on his donkey, and 
leading Rosinante, and lastly the priest 
and the barber riding their mules, and 



The Mad Knight 131 

keeping their faces covered to prevent 
recognition, 

Don Quixote sat in the cage, his hands 
bound, his feet stretched out, leaning 
against the laths of the partition as quiet 
and patient as though he were a statue 
and not a human being. 

After six days' journey they arrived at 
Don Quixote's village. It was Sunday, 
and the inhabitants were all assembled in 
the market-place, which the wagon had to 
cross. Their astonishment on seeing Don 
Quixote can be imagined. One small boy 
rushed off to announce his arrival to the 
housekeeper and his niece. 

When they saw him, so pale and worn, 
they broke out into lamentations and 
maledictions against the romances of chiv- 
alry. 

Sancho's wife was there, too, and her 
first question was how the donkey had 
fared. 



132 The Mad Knight 

"Better than his master," replied 
Sancho. 

"God be thanked for His goodness to 
me!" cried she. "But now tell me, my 
dear, what profit has your service as squire 
brought you? Have you brought me a 
new gown or new shoes for the children?" 

"I have not thought of bringing such 
trifles," replied Sancho. "I bring things 
of far greater importance." 

"I am delighted to hear that," cried his 
wife. "Do please show them to me. They 
will gladden my heart, which your absence 
has so troubled." 

"I will show them to you at home, wife," 
replied Sancho. "Should we seek adven- 
tures again you will soon see me a count 
or the governor of an island — no ordinary 
island, you understand, but the very best 
there is to be had." 

"God grant it, dear husband, for we 
need it badly. But tell me, what is that 
about an island? I don't understand." 



The Mad Knight 133 

"Honey," replied Sancho, "is not for 
a donkey's mouth. You will learn all 
about it in good time. How astonished 
you will be to hear your subjects address 
you as 'your Grace.' " 

"But what are you saying about 'your 
Grace' and 'islands' and 'subjects'?" in- 
sisted Hanna. 

"You do not need to know everything 
at once, Hanna. Enough is said when I 
have told you the truth, so hold your 
tongue. For the present I can only add 
that there is nothing finer than to be the 
squire of a knight errant. True, all the 
adventures do not turn out as we should 
like, for out of a hundred, ninety-nine are 
disappointments. Still, it is delightful to 
live in expectation of great events, to rove 
through the woods and mountains, to 
climb rocks, visit castles, and receive free 
hospitality at every inn you go to." 

While Sancho was describing the 
charms of a wandering knight's life, Don 



134 The Mad Knight 

Quixote had been carefully put to bed 
by his housekeeper and his niece. When 
the pastor recounted to them the doings 
of the knight, they inveighed bitterly 
against the romances of chivalry and their 
authors, and were much troubled lest Don 
Quixote, once his health was restored, 
might start off again to seek adventures. 



CHAPTER VIII 

No sooner was Don Quixote able to 
leave his bed than the desire to seek 
adventures returned upon him. He paid 
no heed to his housekeeper and his niece 
when they heaped abuse upon the stories 
of chivalry and entreated him to remain 
with them. Sancho Panza, who already 
knew of his master's plan, found it easy 
to obtain his wife's consent, having prom- 
ised her to return surely this time with a 
governorship. His son Sancho was to 
learn his father's business and succeed him 
in office, and his daughter Sancha was to 
be a countess. 

So one fine day Don Quixote and his 
trusty squire set off from their village in 
search of fresh adventures. They took 
the road to Saragossa, intending to take 
part in the yearly festival held there. On 

135 



136 The Mad Knight 

the way they met a wagon filled with the 
strangest figures imaginable. 

A hideous devil was driving the wagon, 
and inside sat Death, in mortal guise, then 
an angel with gaily painted wings, beside 
her an emperor with a golden crown, and 
near Death a mythological god called 
Cupid, with his bow and arrows. There 
was a knight in full armor, too, and sev- 
eral other curiously dressed people. 

Their appearance rather confused Don 
Quixote and struck terror into Sancho's 
heart. Quickly recovering himself, and 
believing this to be a real adventure at 
last, Don Quixote called out : 

"Death or devil, or whoever you are, tell 
me whither you are driving, and who are 
these people in your fool's cart." 

"Sefior, we are actors," replied the 
driver courteously, as he stopped his 
wagon. "This morning we played the reli- 
gious drama "The Judgment of Death" in 
a village behind yonder hill, and this after- 



The Mad Knight 137 

noon we are to play in the next village. 
As the distance is short, we thought to 
save ourselves the trouble of dressing and 
undressing by traveling in the costumes 
that we play in. If your Grace wishes 
to know anything else, you have only to 
ask me, for, being a devil, I know every- 
thing." 

"By my word," cried Don Quixote, 
"when first I saw this wagon I believed I 
had come upon a fine adventure. I con- 
fess, however, that my judgment was too 
rash. Go with God, my good people, and 
if I can serve you in any way, you may 
command me." 

During this conversation one of the 
company, dressed as a clown, came up. 
He was covered with little bells, and car- 
ried three bladders attached to his stick. 
Approaching Don Quixote, he cut all 
sorts of capers, making the bells tinkle, 
and finally so terrifying Rosinante that 
she took the bit between her teeth and 



138 The Mad Knight 

dashed off across the fields with more 
speed than any one would have expected 
from such an aged beast. Seeing his 
master's danger, Sancho ran to help him, 
but before he could reach him, Don Quix- 
ote was already sprawling on the ground, 
and Rosinante had fallen too. 

No sooner had Sancho dismounted than 
the clown jumped on his donkey, shaking 
his bladders about its ears, till the terri- 
fied creature dashed over to the spot to 
which the players had withdrawn. In the 
confusion Sancho hardly knew whether to 
help his master or his donkey first. In the 
end his fidelity to his master conquered. 

"The devil has run off with my don- 
key/' he cried, approaching his master. 

"What kind of a devil?" demanded Don 
Quixote. 

"The devil with the bladders." 

"Then I shall get it back for you, even 
if it be in the uttermost depths of hell. 
Follow me, Sancho ; the wagon is driving 



The Mad Knight 139 

slowly. I shall give you the mules in it 
as indemnity for your donkey." 

"Don't trouble, Senor," said Sancho. 
"The devil seems to have sent my donkey 
back." 

And so it was, for when the clown 
tumbled off, in imitation of Don Quixote, 
the donkey turned and trotted back to its 
master. 

"Nevertheless, it would be only right to 
revenge the rudeness of this devil on one 
of his party, were it even on the emperor 
himself," declared Don Quixote. 

"Don't think any more about it," re- 
plied Sancho, "and take my advice, never 
quarrel with actors, for they are a favored 
class everywhere. I have seen actors ar- 
rested for two murders, and then set free 
without paying their costs!" 

"For all that," cried Don Quixote, "the 
actor-devil shall not dare boast of his deed, 
even though the whole world protect 
him." 



140 The Mad Knight 

Saying which he returned to the wagon, 
which was now close to the village, and 
cried out several times: 

"Wait, you merry company! I shall 
teach you how to treat the donkeys and 
the other animals belonging to the squire 
of a knight errant." 

He screamed so loudly that the actors 
heard him, and understood what he meant 
to do. One after another they sprang 
down, picked up stones, and placed them- 
selves in a row. They waited to receive 
Don Quixote with a volley of missiles, and 
the latter, seeing this, reflected how best 
to attack them. 

"Consider, my lord," cried Sancho, hur- 
rying up, "it is more foolhardiness than 
bravery for one man to attack an army in 
which Death and the emperor are fighting 
in person. If that does not shake your 
resolution, surely the fact that among all 
these enemies there is not a single knight 
errant will deter you." 



The Mad Knight 141 

"Now," cried Don Quixote, "you have 
hit the nail on the head. I can not and 
may not draw my sword against any one 
who has not been knighted. If you wish, 
Sancho, you are at liberty to avenge your- 
self. I shall assist you with good advice 
from here." 

"There is really no necessity for ven- 
geance," replied Sancho. "It does not be- 
come a good Christian to revenge the 
wrongs done him. My dearest wish is to 
pass my days in peace." 

"If that is your resolve, honest, prudent 
Sancho," replied Don Quixote, "we shall 
let these people go their way and shall 
turn to nobler adventures, of which this 
country promises us many." 

They turned their horses' heads, and 
Death led his ghostly troops back to the 
cart; so, thanks to Sancho's good advice, 
the adventure with the wagon of Death 
ended happily. 

Don Quixote and his faithful squire 



142 The Mad Knight 

continued their journey and met with 
enough adventures to fill a book. It would 
take too long to describe them all in detail, 
but there are some we can not pass over 
in silence. 

On the road to Saragossa they reached 
a hill, from which they heard the sound of 
trumpets, drums, and shots. At first Don 
Quixote believed that an army was pass- 
ing by, and rode to the top of the hill to 
get a good view of it. He discovered 
about two hundred people grouped at the 
foot of the hill, and armed with all sorts 
of weapons. Riding down, he approached 
near enough to distinguish the colors, de- 
signs, and mottoes on their banners. One 
particularly struck him. It was made of 
white satin and represented a little Sar- 
dinian donkey, with outstretched neck, 
open jaws, and lolling tongue, as though 
in the act of braying. Surrounding it 
were verses declaring that the two mayors 
had not brayed in vain. 



The Mad Knight 143 

From this Don Quixote concluded the 
people must be the inhabitants of the 
"Donkey-village," so called, Don Quixote 
explained to Sancho, because at some time 
or another two of their councillors had 
brayed like donkeys. "The man who told 
me this said 'councillors/ but the standard 
expressly says 'mayors/ " cried the knight. 

"Perhaps, in the course of time, the two 
councillors became mayors/' replied San- 
cho. "It is quite as seemly for a mayor to 
bray as for a councillor." 

On investigation, Don Quixote discov- 
ered that the villagers had come forth to 
revenge themselves on their neighbors, 
who aggravated them by braying after 
them on all occasions. 

All this Don Quixote explained to 
Sancho, and then advanced into the middle 
of the crowd, much to Sancho's disgust, 
for he hated all such feuds. 

He raised his vizor with noble dignity 
and rode up to the banner of the donkey, 



144 The Mad Knight 

where he was quickly surrounded by lead- 
ers of the villagers, who gazed at him with 
the astonishment his appearance usually 
excited. 

"I beg you, gentlemen," began he, "not 
to interrupt the speech I am about to 
make until it becomes obnoxious or weari- 
some to you. As soon as that happens, at 
the least sign from you, I shall set a seal 
before my lips and bridle my tongue." 

They assured him that they were will- 
ing to listen to him. 

He began by introducing himself as a 
knight errant, whose profession it was to 
protect the helpless and oppressed. He 
explained at length the only causes for 
which a sensible man ought to fight. First, 
for the Catholic Faith; secondly, to pre- 
serve his life; thirdly, in defense of his 
honor, family, or property; fourthly, for 
the king, in a righteous cause ; and fifthly, 
in defense of the fatherland. It was folly, 
however, to have recourse to arms for 



The Mad Knight 145 

every trivial, childish matter. "Therefore, 
gentlemen," concluded he, "you are bound 
by the laws of God and man to live in 
peace." 

"May the Lord bless me !" cried Sancho, 
"if my master isn't a theologian — or if he 
isn't one, he's as like one as one egg is to 
another!" 

Don Quixote took breath, and, seeing 
his hearers so attentive, wished to continue 
his discourse, but was prevented from do- 
ing so by the slyness of his squire, who be- 
gan to speak on his own account. 

"My master, Don Quixote of La Man- 
cha, formerly called the 'Knight of the 
Rueful Countenance,' now named the 
'Lion Knight,' is a very learned man, who 
understands Latin and Greek, like any 
bachelor of arts. Take his advice. Do 
as he tells you ; it is foolish to quarrel about 
the braying of any man. When I was a 
boy I screamed 'hee-haw' as often as I 
pleased, without hindrance from any one, 



146 The Mad Knight 

and I did it so well that when I brayed* 
all the donkeys in the village began too. 
Although my talent was jeered at by more 
than half a dozen of the most sensible 
people in the village, I didn't care a straw. 
And to show you that I am speaking the 
truth, only wait a moment and you shall 
hear, for braying, like swimming, is an art 
which once learned is never forgotten." 

Putting his hand on his nose, Sancho 
began to bray so lustily that the valley 
around re-echoed. One of the men stand- 
ing near him, imagining that the squire 
was making fun of them, raised his stick 
and struck him such a blow that Sancho 
measured his length on the ground. 

Don Quixote charged upon the assail- 
ant, but there was such a crowd against 
him that it was impossible to avenge poor 
Sancho. On the contrary, seeing all the 
guns aimed at him, he turned Rosin ante's 
head and galloped off, praying God to 
save him from this danger. Every mo- 



The Mad Knight 147 

ment he expected to be struck by a ball, 
and drew long breaths to assure himself 
that he was still alive. 

The armed villagers contented them- 
selves by putting him to flight, and did 
not fire after him. As to Sancho, as soon 
as he had recovered consciousness, they set 
him on his ass and allowed him to follow 
his master. 

After riding a good distance, and assur- 
ing himself that he was not pursued, Don 
Quixote drew up and waited for Sancho 
to join him. The villagers remained on 
the spot until night fell, and then went 
home, as their opponents had not ap- 
peared. Had they been acquainted with 
the customs of the ancient Greeks, they 
would have erected a column of victory to 
mark the spot. 



CHAPTER IX 

Ont the morning after their adventure 
with the "Donkey villagers/' Don 
Quixote and his squire reached the banks 
of the Ebro. While admiring the beauty 
of the rippling wavelets on the broad, clear 
river, the knight noticed a rudderless skiff 
tied to a tree on the bank. He looked all 
around, and seeing no one near, dis- 
mounted, and bade Sancho do likewise, 
and tied Rosinante and the donkey to a 
willow near by. 

When Sancho demanded the reason for 
this halt he received the following reply: 
"You must know, Sancho, that this skiff 
is here to bring me to some noble knight 
or other distinguished person in distress. 
For I know from my books on chivalry 
that when a knight is so situated that only 
the bravery of a brother-knight can save 

148 



The Mad Knight 149 

him, it is the custom of magicians to bear 
the rescuer through the clouds, though he 
may be thousands of miles away at the 
moment, or to send him a skiff, in which 
he is transported over the waters to the 
place where his help is needed. This bark 
is here for just such a purpose, as surely 
as the sun shines, so tie up Rosinante and 
the donkey and let us pray to God, for I 
am determined to embark." 

"If that is the case," replied Sancho, 
"and your Grace is determined to rush 
into this — what shall I call it? — this ab- 
surd adventure, I have nothing more to 
do than hold my tongue and bow my head. 
Nevertheless, to relieve my conscience, I 
will tell your Grace that, in my opinion, 
this bark has nothing to do with magic, 
but belongs to some fishermen on the 
river." 

When he had tethered the animals, 
which, to his sorrow, he was obliged to con- 
fide to the care of the unknown magician, 



150 The Mad Knight 

he asked his master what was to be done 
next. 

"What?" answered Don Quixote. 
"What but bless ourselves and raise the 
anchor, or rather, get in and cut the rope 
which binds the skiff." 

They got in accordingly, cut the rope, 
and the skiff drifted slowly away from the 
bank. They were hardly two feet from 
land when Sancho began to tremble with 
fear, and it pained him deeply to hear the 
voices of Rosinante and the donkey, as 
they endeavored to break loose. He burst 
into tears, and lamented loudly, until Don 
Quixote stood up and addressed him an- 
grily : 

"What are you afraid of, miserable 
coward? Why do you weep? Is there 
any one following you or troubling you in 
the least? Are you suffering from want 
here in the midst of plenty? It would 
be enough to complain if you were travel- 
ing barefoot over the high, rough moun- 



The Mad Knight 151 

tains of Scythia instead of sitting like a 
duke at your ease in this comfortable boat, 
which is bearing us so gently with the cur- 
rent to the open sea. In fact, I believe 
we are already on the ocean, and have 
traveled seven or eight hundred miles. 
Perhaps we have even passed the equator; 
at any rate, we must be close to it. If I 
only had an astrolabe here, I could tell 
our whereabouts to a certainty." 

He talked to Sancho about the 360 de- 
grees into which the great cosmographer 
Ptolemy had divided the globe, but poor 
Sancho asked such ridiculous questions 
that Don Quixote had to laugh. 

The skiff had drifted gently, and now 
there suddenly appeared before them a 
coupk of water-mills, which were built 
out in the water. 

"Look, my friend!" cried Don Quix- 
ote on seeing them. "This is the town, 
or the castle, or the fortress, in which some 
knight errant, or queen, or unhappy prin- 



152 The Mad Knight 

cess is imprisoned and to aid whom I have 
been brought hither." 

"What the mischief does your Grace 
mean by talking of towns and castles and 
fortresses?" cried Sancho. "Don't you 
see that they are mills built in the water — 
flour-mills?" 

"Be quiet, Sancho," retorted Don 
Quixote. "Although they look like mills, 
they are not so in reality. I have already 
told you that magicians can transform all 
things ; though by that I do not mean that 
the objects really are changed, but they 
appear to be." 

The bark had reached the middle of the 
stream and began to move much more 
rapidly than at first. The millers, seeing 
that the skiff was making straight for the 
mill-wheels, sprang out and tried to hold 
it off with their long sticks. 

"You confounded fellows, w r here are 
you going?" they cried. "Are you crazy? 



The Mad Knight 153 

Do you want to get caught in the wheels 
and drown?" 

"Did I not tell you, Sancho," cried Don 
Quixote to his servant, "that we have 
reached the spot where I must show the 
strength of my arm. See what knaves and 
assassins I have to do with. Look at their 
dreadful faces! But wait, I am equal to 
them!" 

Standing up in the boat, he began to 
scream at the millers: 

"Evil-minded people, give freedom to 
the person who is held in your fortress, no 
matter to what rank he belongs. I am 
Don Quixote of La Mancha, the 'Lion 
Knight/ sent specially by Heaven to 
bring this adventure to a successful issue." 

With these words he seized his sword 
and began to flourish it against the millers, 
who were still trying to keep off the skiff 
with their poles. It was already in the 
whirl of the mill-stream, and Sancho 
threw himself on his knees and prayed f er- 



154 The Mad Knight 

vently to God to save him from this dan- 
ger. His prayer was heard, for, thanks 
to the skill and energy of the millers, the 
skiff was drawn out of the mill-race. In 
the struggle, however, the boat was upset 
and its occupants thrown into the water. 
It was well for Don Quixote that he could 
swim, although his heavy armor impeded 
him greatly, and had it not been for the 
millers, who jumped in and fished them 
both out, there would be an end to our 
story. 

Once on land, Sancho knelt down and 
implored God to save him from the fool- 
ish notions and crazy undertakings of his 
master. Shortly afterward the fishermen 
to whom the skiff belonged came along, 
and seeing their boat shattered to pieces 
by the mill-wheels, they began to strip off 
Sancho's clothing, and demanded pay- 
ment from Don Quixote. With much 
condescension, and as calmly as though 
nothing had happened, the knight in- 



The Mad Knight 155 

formed them that he would pay willingly 
as soon as the person or persons confined 
in the castle would be delivered over to 
him without ransom. 

"What does the fool mean with his 
'persons' and his 'castle'?" asked one of 
the millers. "Does he want to drag off the 
customers who bring corn to our mills?'* 

"That is sufficient now," said Don 
Quixote to himself. "I might as well 
preach in the wilderness as try to induce 
these wretches to perform a good deed. 
In this adventure two great magicians 
must have opposed each other. The one 
provided the boat for me, the other hurled 
me into the water. The world is a con- 
stant warfare, with treachery on all sides. 
I can do no more !" 

Then looking toward the walls of the 
mill, he continued: 

"Friends, whosoever you may be that 
are imprisoned in yonder fortress, forgive 
me! It is not in my power to rescue you 



156 The Mad Knight 

from misery. That task must be given 
to some other knight." 

Then he arranged with the fishermen by 
paying them fifty reals for the boat. 

"Two such boating excursions would 
swallow up our whole fortune," cried 
Sancho, who handed out the money 
grudgingly. 

The millers and the fishermen looked in 
astonishment at the two strange figures, 
one so different from the other, and not 
being able to understand Don Quixote's 
discourse, they put both down as fools and 
went off their different ways. 

So ended the adventure of the en- 
chanted bark. 

All their undertakings ended in some- 
what the same manner, and yet one fine 
day Don Quixote's promise was fulfilled, 
and Sancho Panza became a governor. 
Here is how it happened. In their wan- 
derings they chanced to come across a 
fashionable hunting party, consisting of a 



The Mad Knight 157 

duke, his wife, and their friends. Don 
Quixote and his companion were quickly- 
recognized for what they were, namely, 
two fools. When the duke heard that 
Don Quixote had promised the governor- 
ship of an island to his servant, he de- 
cided to help him to the position. Don 
Quixote and his squire were received by 
the ducal family as guests in their palace, 
and during their sojourn there the duke, 
in collusion with a few of his trusty sub- 
jects, carried out the joke of conferring 
the governorship of the "Island" of Bara- 
taria on Sancho. This "island" was noth- 
ing more than a small village belonging 
to the possessions of the duke. 



CHAPTER X 

Before Sancho started to take up his 
new post his master gave him much 
valuable advice, for Don Quixote could 
talk and act very reasonably when it was 
not a question of chivalrous adventures, 
as described in his romances. 

Armed with these good counsels, ar- 
rayed in suitable garments, and escorted 
by a retinue, which the duke had given 
him, Sancho started off to his "island" 
(which was really a village of about 1,000 
inhabitants). When the new governor 
arrived, the bells pealed, the entire town 
council met him at the gates, all was re- 
joicing, and finally the supposed "island- 
ers" conducted the governor to church, 
where the keys of the city were delivered 
over to him, with ridiculous ceremony. He 
was then escorted to the judge's bench, 

158 



The Mad Knight 159 

where he seated himself and listened to an 
address read by the duke's steward. 

The first claimants for the new gov- 
ernor's justice were not long in putting in 
an appearance. They were a peasant and 
a tailor, and the latter, who carried a big 
pair of scissors in his hand, began: 

"My lord governor, this man came to 
my shop yesterday and gave me a piece of 
cloth, saying, 'Is this enough for one cap?' 
I looked at it and said, 'Yes.' He must 
have thought I meant to steal a piece of 
the cloth from him, for he asked if it 
wouldn't perhaps make two caps. Seeing 
what he meant, I answered 'Yes.' He 
continued his questions until we had ar- 
rived at five caps. He has just called for 
them. I have given them to him, and 
now he not only refuses to pay for the 
making, but wants me to pay for his cloth 
or return it." 

"Is that so, my friend?" inquired San- 
cho. 



160 The Mad Knight 

"Yes, Seiior," answered the man. "But 
permit him to show your Grace the five 
caps he has made." 

"Willingly/' replied the tailor (draw- 
ing the five caps, each set on the tip of a 
finger, from beneath his cloak). 

"These are the five caps the good fellow 
wanted, and by my conscience, none of the 
cloth has remained over/' 

The spectators laughed at the tailor's 
ingenuity, and joked about the case, but 
Sancho reflected for a while, and then de- 
clared seriously as follows: 

"It appears to me that this case can 
easily be decided. My ruling is that the 
tailor loses his pay and the peasant his 
cloth. The caps are to be given to the 
state's prisoners, and there's an end of the 
matter." 

The listeners laughed, but the gover- 
nor's will was obeyed. 

Then there appeared two old men, one 
of whom carried a stick. 



The Mad Knight 161 

"Seiior," said the one who had no stick, 
"I lent this man ten gold pieces some time 
ago on the condition that he return them 
whenever I should demand repayment. 
A long time has passed since then, and I 
have not asked for them, because I did not 
wish to inconvenience him. But as he 
seemed to have no intention of paying me, 
I demanded my money several times, and 
each time he refused to listen to me. I 
have no witnesses to prove that he paid me 
for the simple reason that he has not paid 
me! I now beg your Grace to make him 
swear that he has returned the sum, if he 
is willing to swear to the fact, and I shall 
be satisfied." 

"What do you say to that, old man with 
the stick?" asked Sancho. 

"I acknowledge," replied the man, 
"that he lent me the gold pieces. But 
now, as he has made it a matter of taking 
an oath, I swear that I have paid him 
back." 



162 The Mad Knight 

The governor, according to custom, in- 
clined his staff of office, and the old man 
passed his own stick to his accuser, as 
though it were in his way, during the cere- 
mony of taking the oath. Laying his hand 
on the handle of the governor's staff, he 
declared that the money had been lent to 
him, but that he had returned it with his 
own hands, and that the other old man — 
having forgotten this — had demanded it 
again from him. 

His creditor declared himself satisfied, 
saying that he believed the other man to 
be honest and a good Christian, and that 
he was sure he had spoken the truth. The 
old man seized his stick again, and bow- 
ing to the court, departed. 

Sancho remained for a few moments 
deep in thought, then suddenly com- 
manded that the old man with the stick be 
recalled. 

"My friend," cried Sancho, when he 
appeared, "give me your stick. I want it." 



The Mad Knight 163 

"Willingly," replied the old man. 
"Here it is." 

Sancho took it and handed it to the 
other old man, saying: "Go with God. 
You are paid now." 

"Ah! Senor," cried the man, "is this 
stick worth my ten gold pieces?" 

"Certainly," replied the governor. "Or, 
if it is not, I am the biggest fool in cre- 
ation. Now, I'll prove to you that I have 
enough wit to govern a whole kingdom." 

He commanded the stick to be broken 
before all those assembled, and behold! 
Out rolled ten gold pieces! Every one 
was seized with admiration and looked 
upon the governor as a new Solomon. 
They wanted to know how he had guessed 
it, and he replied : 

"Well, I noticed how the defendant 
handed the stick to the plaintiff, and then 
swore he had really and truly paid him. 
When he had sworn, however, he immedi- 
ately demanded the stick back. It oc- 



164 The Mad Knight 

curred to me that the money might be 
hidden in the stick. So you see that those 
who govern, even though they may be 
blockheads, are often guided by God him- 
self in their decisions." 

The old man was paid, and the other 
slunk off, while the people wondered, and 
the clerk of the court hardly knew whether 
to put Sancho down as a blockhead or a 
genius. 

For seven days Sancho ruled his island 
with marked success, but on the seventh 
day it appeared to him that he had had 
enough of governing, and was tired of 
judging and lawmaking. On the night 
of the seventh day, as he was about to fall 
asleep, a wild confusion of voices and 
bells reached his ears. He sat up in bed, 
and his fear increased when he distin- 
guished the sounds of trumpets and 
drums. He got up and hurried to the 
door of his chamber, where he suddenly 
perceived two or more persons with burn- 



The Mad Knight 165 

ing torches and drawn swords running 
through the corridor, and crying out : 

"To arms ! To arms ! my lord governor. 
Numberless enemies have forced their way 
to our island, and it is all over with us if 
our bravery and skill do not save us!" 

They reached the door where Sancho 
stood, terrified at all he saw and heard. 
They bade him arm himself at once if he 
did not wish to perish with his island. 

Sancho didn't want to have anything to 
do with bloody deeds; such things were 
more suitable to his master, Don Quixote, 
who could settle anything of this kind in a 
minute. But they insisted, and desired 
him to come to the market-place, where 
they and their leaders were all ready to 
rally round him. 

"Then arm me!" cried poor Sancho. 

They fastened two big shields on him, 
without allowing him to don any garment 
over his nightshirt, and these they bound 
so tightly round him with strings that he 



166 The Mad Knight 

was as if plastered into them, and could 
not bend his knees or walk a step. They 
gave him a spear, too, and on this he 
leaned to enable him to stand upright. 
Then they appealed to him to place him- 
self at their head, and assured him that 
all would yet end well. 

"How am I to go when I can't move 
my knee joints?" groaned Sancho. "These 
boards you have bound on me prevent my 
walking! Lift me up and show me my 
place and I shall defend it with my spear 
or my body." 

"Oh! come quickly, your Grace, or we 
shall think it is fear and not the boards 
which detains you !" cried one. "Forward ! 
Stir yourself! Otherwise it will be too 
late. The enemy is advancing." 

The poor governor tried to move, but 
fell so heavily that he imagined all his 
bones were broken. There he lay like 
a tortoise, and the ruthless band began 
their cruel joke. They put out the torches, 



The Mad Knight 167 

still crying, "To arms!" and ran over poor 
Sancho's body, hitting his shields with 
their swords; and, indeed, had he not 
drawn up his limbs and hidden his head be- 
tween the shields he would have fared 
badly among them. The noise was terrific, 
and when one of the wildest of the com- 
pany jumped upon him and began to call 
out orders, poor Sancho could only 
mutter: 

"I wish this island were lost and that I 
were dead and freed from my misery !" 

His prayer was heard. Suddenly the 
cry of "Victory! Victory!" arose, and they 
called out to him: "The enemy has fled! 
Arise, my lord governor, and rejoice in 
our victory. Distribute the booty which 
your invincible arm has wrested from the 
enemy." 

"Lift me up," said Sancho feebly. 

Once on his feet, he could only gasp : 

"I will distribute no booty, but will ask 
a friend, if I still have one, for a drop of 



168 The Mad Knight 

wine. I am fainting with weakness and 
dripping with perspiration." 

They gave him the wine and relieved 
him of his shield, whereupon he fainted — 
to the sorrow of those who had played this 
trick on him. On recovering conscious- 
ness he asked what o'clock it was, and was 
told it was about daybreak. Without a 
word he dressed himself and went slowly 
toward the stables, accompanied by his 
suite. 

With tears in his eyes he embraced the 
donkey and said to him : 

"Come, my friend and fellow-sufferer. 
As long as I lived peacefully with you I 
was happy, but since I have allowed pride 
and ambition to rule me I have met with 
endless misfortunes and disappoint- 
ments." 

He mounted his donkey without oppo- 
sition from those present, and turning to 
the members of his suite around him, he 
said: 



The Mad Knight 169 

"Make way, my lords, and let me return 
to my former freedom. I was not born to 
govern islands or defend them in time of 
danger. The care of fields and vineyards 
suits me better than lawmaking. I came 
here without a penny, and I leave it with- 
out a penny — not like most governors 
when they quit their offices. Now make 
way, and let me go!" 

They pleaded in vain with Sancho; he 
wanted to have nothing more to do with 
governorships, and asked only for some 
oats for his donkey and a half a loaf and a 
piece of cheese for himself. 

Amid the tears of his subjects, Sancho 
set off, and in a few days joined his mas- 
ter, who, as the guest of the duke, had 
been the victim of as many pranks in the 
castle as poor Sancho in his island. 

One morning Don Quixote and his 
squire (who had received a purse contain- 
ing two hundred gold pieces from the 
duke) set off from the castle to take up 



170 The Mad Knight 

their old adventurous life again. By de- 
grees Don Quixote had begun to realize 
that a knight errant's life was far from 
profitable, and it occurred to him to adopt 
a shepherd's life instead. So he and 
Sancho returned to their village and were 
received with yells of derision by the vil- 
lage boys. Don Quixote's housekeeper 
and his niece stood before the door to re- 
ceive him, and Sancho Panza's wife had 
also heard of her husband's arrival, and 
came half -dressed and with tousled hair 
to meet him. Not seeing him attired as 
she expected a governor to be, she cried : 

"What do you look like, husband? You 
are more like a court fool than a court 
official!" 

"Silence," replied Sancho. "There are 
lots of hooks and poles on which no bacon 
hangs. Let us go home and you shall hear 
wonders. I bring honestly earned money, 
and that is the principal thing!" 

For six days after his return home Don 



The Mad Knight 171 

Quixote lay in bed with a fever. He was 
faithfully nursed by Sancho Panza, who 
never left him, and the priest and the bar- 
ber came to visit him frequently. The 
doctor was called in, and after f eeling the 
knight's pulse, looked grave, and advised 
him to make his peace with God, for his 
case was dangerous. 

Don Quixote received the news quietly, 
but Sancho Panza and the women began 
to weep, as though they already saw him 
dead before them. Melancholy and worry 
were the cause of his illness, so the physi- 
cian declared. 

Don Quixote fell into a sleep, which 
lasted six hours, and terrified his friends, 
who feared that he had died. But he 
awoke with the words : 

"God be praised for all the benefits He 
Has conferred upon me! Truly, His 
mercy is boundless!" 

"What do you mean, uncle?" asked his 
niece. 



172 The Mad Knight 

"God has shown His mercy in this mo- 
ment, niece/' replied Don Quixote. "He 
has driven away the shadows from my 
mind, and I can now realize the absurdity 
and falsity of the stories of chivalry, 
which have filled my brain for so long. 
I feel the approach of death and fain 
would meet it bravely; that in my death I 
may make amends for the folly of my life. 
Send now for the priest and Master Nich- 
olas. I wish to confess and to make my 
will." 

Just then his two old friends entered, 
and Don Quixote greeted them with the 
words : 

"Congratulate me, friends! I am no 
longer Don Quixote of La Mancha, but 
Alphonso Quixano the Good, as people 
used to call me. I recognize the follies 
into which the stories of Amadis of Gaul 
and his imitators led me, and I thank God 
that I at last understand their absurdity 
and despise them as I ought." 



The Mad Knight 173 

His friends were surprised to hear him 
talking thus, and at first supposed it to be 
only another craze. 

"What!" cried Sancho, who could not 
believe the meaning of these words. "Now, 
when we are about to become shepherds 
and pass our lives singing, does your 
Grace wish to turn hermit? Pray do not 
speak so, my master." 

"Let us have done with that nonsense," 
cried Don Quixote. "I feel that death is 
near, and I demand a confessor to give me 
absolution, and a notary to draw up my 
will." 

Those present were now convinced that 
Don Quixote had really recovered his 
reason, and hastily left the room, in which 
the priest alone remained to hear the 
knight's confession. 

The notary then appeared, and Don 
Quixote made his will, in which his former 
squire, Sancho Panza, was mentioned in 
the following words: 



174 The Mad Knight 

"I will and desire that Sancho Panza, 
whom I took with me on my mad wander- 
ings, and who is still in possession of some 
moneys belonging to me, be not called 
upon for an account of same; but that, 
after repaying himself what is due him, 
he be permitted to retain the balance, 
which will not be large. Were it in my 
power to confer the government of a king- 
dom upon him I would gladly do it in re- 
turn for his loyalty and fidelity to me in 
my days of madness." 

He then begged Sancho's pardon for 
having led him away from his home; but 
poor Sancho could hardly believe that his 
master was in earnest, and expected that 
he would suddenly get up and start off to 
enjoy life in the garb of a shepherd, as 
they had arranged to do. 

Don Quixote continued to dictate his 
will, in which he left all his property to his 
niece. 

Hardly had he finished the last words 



The Mad Knight 175 

when he fainted. Death did not come, 
however, for three days longer. After re- 
ceiving the sacraments and formally de- 
claring his hatred of all knightly ro- 
mances, Don Quixote closed his eyes for- 
ever. The tears that were shed for him 
proved that he was a good man, and his 
name will remain illustrious so long as the 
world lasts. 



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MISS ERIN. Francis. 

MONK'S PARDON, THE. Navery. 

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A series ot 
interesting- 
articles on a 
great variety 
of subjects of 
much educa- 
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Profusely il- 
lustrated. 



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HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. Egan. 85 

IN QUEST OF THE GOLDEN CHEST. Barton. 1 15 



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SUMMER AT WOODVILLE, A. Sadlier. 45 
TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE MIDDLE AGES. 

Capella. ff 



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THAT FOOTBALL GAME. Finn, S.J. 86 

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Taggart. 85 

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Schaching. 45 

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CHILD'S PRAYER-BOOK, THE. 48mo. 15 40—0 90 
DEVOUT CHILD, THE. With 18 full-page 

illustrations of the Mass. 48mo. 10 

FIRST COMMUNICANT'S MANUAL. 

Small 32mo. 35 65 — 2 50 

FIRST COMMUNION PRAYER-BOOK FOR 

SMALL CHILDREN. By Rev. P. J. 

Sloan. Small 32mo. 20 50 

LITTLE ALTAR BOY'S MANUAL. 25 60 

LITTLE FIRST COMMUNICANT, THE. 

By Rev. B. Hammer, O.F.M. Small 32mo. 25 65 
PIOUS CHILD, THE. With 18 full-page 

illustrations of the Mass. 48mo. 12 45 

SHORT PRAYERS FOR YOUNG CATH- 
OLICS. With Epistles and Gospels. 48mo. 20 45—1 95 
SODALIST'S VADE MECUM, THE. 32mo. 40 65 



A copy of "Catholic Books in English" now in print in 
America and Europe will be sent on receipt of 50 cents. Bound 
in cloth, it contains over 5,000 titles and over 300 illustrations 
of authors. 
o/je 



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